


Together In the Light, Bound By Defiance

by Saremina



Series: Shelter [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Galactic War, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2020-06-16 03:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19637029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saremina/pseuds/Saremina
Summary: Keith and Zarkon are trapped in the rift with a broken Lion and no way of getting out, while Shiro and Lotor have to get the Galra and rebels to work together if they want to survive the Empire's internal fighting and the new Altean threat. As tensions rise, distrust spreads and enemies become harder to tell from friends, survival starts to seem impossible and the only way that might stop the war and bring peace is the last thing anyone wants to do.Final part of Shelter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the last stretch of this story! Hope you're ready for this.

Shiro’s feet hit the ground, pain shooting through them and up his legs, all the way to his spine, but he keeps running. The ground beneath him crunches under his feet, the rocks slipping from under them almost tripping Shiro over and sending him crashing into the thin trees and large rocks around him more than once.

A fighter ship passes over Shiro, firing at him, and Shiro barely dodges the blast.

“I need that extraction now!”

“A moment,” Lotor replies over the comms, calm enough to annoy Shiro just a bit.

“I’m going to be blown up in a moment,” Shiro shoots back just as another explosion goes off at his heels, shaking the ground and sending dirt and rocks flying in all directions.

“Patience,” Lotor says.

Shiro dives behind the large rock on his right, ready to tell Lotor where he can shove his advice and wondering if this is how it feels when he encourages people to be patient in tough situations.

“I am ready,” Lotor says after several, too long seconds. “Where are you?”

“Almost at the clearing.” Shiro keeps running through the forest of tall rocks and trees around him, down the slope of the hill, towards Lotor.

The fighters following him only double their efforts to try and blow Shiro up when Shiro nears his destination. Shiro grits his teeth, runs in a less of a straight line, and forces his legs to move just a little faster.

There, at the middle of the clearing, is Lotor with their ship. “I see you,” Shiro says and gathers the last of his strength, and sprints the last stretch between them. The burning of his lungs barely distracts him from the sharp pain in his legs, his muscles hurting from the exertion and hits they’ve taken. His sides sting and Shiro thinks, for a brief, horrifying moment, that he might fall and faint right there.

The fighters fire at him and small rocks hit Shiro’s armor, digging into the less protected places painfully, but Shiro keeps running, his legs burning in protest. He’s almost at the ship. Just a dozen or so feet anymore. He can make it.

He has to make it.

Lotor opens the doors to their ship and steps aside, and Shiro dives into the safety of the ship, rushing to close the doors while Lotor gets them up into the air and away from the enemy fire.

Shiro slumps on the floor, panting and shaking from his narrow escape, his body aching, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters. Lotor flies them away, using the speed of their ship to their advantage to dodge and weave their way to safety. Shiro closes his eyes, trusting Lotor to know what he’s doing.

“I was considering dinner this weekend,” Lotor starts, sounding just a bit too casual.

Shiro opens his eyes and turns to stare at Lotor in disbelief. “Seriously? You’re talking dinner plans right now?”

“I can multitask,” Lotor replies as he fires a shot at the missile aimed at them, taking it out easily.

Of course Lotor can; Shiro knows just how well Lotor can multitask when he wants to, but there’s a time and a place for everything. And when they’re trying to fight their way through a fleet of Altean fighters is  _ not  _ the place to make dinner plans. “I could go for dinner.”

“Good. I also told the others we would be a little late, so they are not concerned we’re not at the — hold on.”

Shiro grabs a hold of the nearest bolted down object — a handle, fittingly, meant to ease moving in zero grav — a fraction of a second before Lotor performs an impressive barrel roll while taking out the fast approaching fighter, sending Shiro into the air as he does so.

“Who the hell taught you to fly?” Shiro barks as he hits the ground again, his already hurting body flashing with pain from the sudden contact. He should really get strapped down.

“My father,” Lotor replies as he rights their ship again and flies into the vastness of the space at full speed. “Hyperdrive in five ticks.”

Shiro curses and scrambles to take his seat. He’s just gotten his seat belt on when Lotor engages the hyperdrive and the force of it pushes Shiro into his seat, just for a second, before the ship’s compensators catch up and adjust to the change in speed.

“I don’t know how we still have Voltron if that’s the case,” Shiro says. “I don’t know how we’re alive with your piloting either.”

Shiro knows why they’re alive and why they still have Voltron, of course he does; Lotor is the best pilot in their little resistance, and there’s no one — not a single person, no matter how much they might hate the Galra — that would even think about denying it.

“Shut up.”

Shiro nods and does just that.

“Where do you want to go for our dinner?” Lotor asks a mere minute later.

“You’re the local, you pick. As long as it’s not that stuff Galvak got us the other day, that was... not an experience I want to repeat,” Shiro replies.

“Alright.”

Shiro spares Lotor a smile before closing his eyes, needing a moment to rest and deal with the sharp pain thrumming through his body. It’s worth it though: the Altean ship he had blown up is a loss for Alfor, and not an entirely insignificant one at that.

They are making progress.

However small, they are making progress. That has to matter.

* * *

The thing about having Marda and Rinde around is that they stay in the base barely for a day before disappearing, then stay away for almost two weeks before returning without explanation, and despite the questions directed at them, they refuse to explain themselves. It becomes increasingly frustrating for Thace to deal with Marda evading all his attempts at getting her to just tell him how she is alive. That’s all he wants to know. He can deal with her and Haala making a point of ignoring each others existence if she  _ just tells him how she is alive. _

But she won’t. She refuses to say anything. She won’t even explain why she keeps hiding her tail.

“If you need medical attention —”

“I don’t. Stop worrying.” Marda flattens her ears for good measure, but Thace refuses to stop worrying about her, not when he has her there, alive again. He only wants to know if she’s well.

The only thing Marda and Rinde have volunteered is that they are a part of a resistance of some kind, fighting against Alfor the best they can. As if it’s supposed to be enough.

As if it is supposed to make it easier for Thace to tell his family that Marda is alive, after all this time. After they had accepted that she was gone and moved on.

“I can tell Zairi when I see her,” Haala offers. “I’m going with Marzi on a mission. We’re going to see if some lieutenant friend of hers is still around, and Zairi’s staying near where we’re going, so I thought I’d say hi to her.”

Thace inclines his head. “If you’re sure. And tell her I said hi.”

“I doubt she’d appreciate that,” Haala replies. “But whatever. Aren’t Shiro and the Prince supposed to be back here soon?”

Thace takes the change in topic for what it is and confirms their arrival. “Why?”

Haala shrugs. “Just curious. I heard they were late to the rendezvous point but no one’s told me if the ship took damage.”

Thace can’t tell Haala if it has, but he almost hopes it has, for Haala’s sake; he could use a ship to fix, instead of just tinkering with his smaller projects. “I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

Haala hums in agreement, but he doesn’t try to continue their conversation. But he doesn’t leave Thace’s side either, and that’s more than enough for Thace.

* * *

Dinner, when they find the time for it, turns out to be fish in a small yet prestigious establishment in the Galran space, though the restaurant Lotor takes Shiro into isn’t Galran owned, much to Shiro’s surprise. They sit in a small corner table and Shiro never sees a menu, but a waitress with four arms brings them food and drinks minutes after they sit down nevertheless.

“I ordered for you when I made the reservation,” Lotor explains. “You wouldn’t have known what is good and safe for you to eat.”

“I could’ve ordered my own food,” Shiro insists, but there’s no heat behind his words. “Now what?”

“Lets not discuss the current state of the universe,” Lotor replies and takes a small sip of his wine.

Suddenly Shiro feels inadequate. His table manners aren’t bad by any means, but as he watches Lotor go through the motions of inspecting his food and trying out his wine with pristine ease, he can’t help but think Lotor must be reconsidering bringing Shiro here. Shiro tests the food, acutely aware of the fact that he can’t even begin to replicate the almost delicate way Lotor handles his cutlery and glass, and to his delight it’s good. Better than good, even.

Still, Shiro has no idea how Keith handled dining with Zarkon every day, and he’d welcome some advice on the matter.

“You need not try so hard,” Lotor says quietly, almost softly. “I would rather you be yourself.”

“Huh?” It’s not the most eloquent thing Shiro has ever said, and he has no problem admitting it.

“You look uncomfortable,” Lotor elaborates. “Just... educate me on human dining customs?”

Somehow it makes things easier. Shiro explains all he knows about fine dining human style, and Lotor listens to him, asking questions every now and again and making comments when appropriate. Their conversation drifts to entertainment, and soon Shiro has been roped into a heated discussion on the merits of adapting books into movies.

“They’re completely different formats and both have their benefits and downsides,” Shiro argues.

“I am aware of that. All I am saying is that if you insist on adapting a beloved story, at least have the decency to do it in a proper way,” Lotor responds. “Changing the plot or the characters to the point they are not, fundamentally, themselves is not right. It would be far better for them to call the adaptation an original work inspired by another story than claim it is an adaptation.”

Shiro can’t really argue with that, and Lotor is happy to win their little debate. And if Shiro is honest, he doesn’t mind losing that much when it puts that small, satisfied smile on Lotor’s face.

The rest of their dinner goes by smoothly, though Shiro can’t help but ask why Lotor had thought they should take a night off for it.

“We will be no help to anyone if we work ourselves to exhaustion. It is good to relax sometimes, and this was the most efficient way I could think of doing it quickly,” Lotor replies.

Shiro accepts Lotor’s explanation, and agrees to the dessert Lotor wants to get. By the time they’re ready to leave, Shiro feels lighter than he has in weeks. Maybe he did need a night off to unwind.

They’ve barely left the restaurant when Lotor’s comm pings, demanding his attention. Shiro gives Lotor the space he needs, directing his attention to the nearby shop with several bright bottles on its window. A minute or so later Lotor touches his elbow and heads to their ship, his expression giving nothing away.

Shiro waits until they’re in the safety of their ship before asking Lotor if something has happened.

“We lost another colony,” Lotor replies, his voice void of any emotion.

Not knowing what else to do, Shiro pulls Lotor into his arms and holds him.

* * *

Lotor takes Narti, Thace, and Marzila with him when he goes to see the colony that the Alteans had destroyed. He refuses to let any of the Paladins or Rebellion members near the few surviving Galra, and all three of them are gone for two long weeks, along with the small crew of their ship.

Haala is snappier than usual, but no one blames him for it; they’re all on edge. As long as no serious fights break out, they’ll stick to their unspoken agreement not to mention each others foul moods.

Shiro pours himself a drink, the alcohol sour in his mouth without Lotor there to keep him company. He goes over the report the druids have written him — they like their reports, Shiro has discovered, to an almost disturbing degree — even though he knows it’s nothing new. The druids have looked into possible weapons to use against the Alteans, something to counteract their cloaking abilities, how to shield from their magic, anything that might help, but they have yet to come up with anything truly effective.

Still, any progress is progress, and at least it keeps them busy and less focused on finding Haggar — their primary focus of the early days before Lotor had gotten tired of it and stepped in. They still look for her, of course, but it’s not all they do anymore. Shiro doesn’t say it out loud, but he couldn’t care less if Haggar will never surface again. As far as he’s concerned, she’s brought nothing but pain and trouble with her and they’re all better off without her.

Shaking his head, Shiro focuses on the druids’ request to go raid one of their old bases and recover equipment. The faster he gives them an answer, the better. Thinking it over, Shiro agrees to the request and starts thinking about who should go on the mission, and any additional things they might gather from the druid base.

* * *

Getting the survivors from the colony to a safe location was harder and took longer that Lotor had expected, but he had a good team with him and they succeeded in their mission. Eventually.

It was not without problems, though. They had to fight deserters of the Galran Empire and Alteans on the way, but Lotor had the loyal Galra who had come to help their people to safety, his team and — most importantly — his wits and all the knowledge and skill his father had drilled into him until Lotor performed to his impossible standards. They might have been slowed down a bit, but they were never defeated.

Was this what his father had meant when he had insisted Alteans were not the people Lotor had read about in many of his father’s old books? They are so far from kind and peaceful, attacking anyone who disagreed with them — destroying them. In Lotor’s opinion, they are worse than his father was even in his darkest moments.

Or perhaps that is an exaggeration. Lotor is not entirely sure. His father was a different kind of evil; vengeful and vicious, assuming worst of everyone and everything and seeing enemies where there were none, determined to strike them down before they struck him. At least with him, Lotor could understand where he was coming from: his father was far more concerned with protecting his people no matter the cost than anything else, while the Alteans... Lotor is not sure what they want. He cannot see reason in their destruction of everyone who does not bow before them the tick they show up.

And then there is Blaytz, claiming to be a friend of his father. Lotor shakes his head. That is a topic he would rather not get into. It is far too complicated, and he does not have all the facts yet.

Perhaps he never will.

“What is our ETA?” Lotor asks Thace, directing his thoughts from unbeatable enemies and people who should not be alive to more pressing matters, such as getting back to Shiro and the brief moments of distraction he offers.

“Five quarters,” Thace replies, his voice crackling over the comms. Someone ought to fix that particular issue. The ship had taken some damage during their scuffles with the rouge Galra and Alteans, and despite Lotor’s best glowering, the crew has stated they will not be able to fix all the damage before they reach their current base. But the comm issue should be dealt with; it is imperative that they have working communication channels at all times.

Lotor tells Thace as much.

“I will inform the crew of the issue and get it fixed as soon as possible,” Thace assures him.

Lotor turns off the comms and focuses on getting the rest he’d promised Narti he would get. He has been awake for two days straight, and he could do with a nap.

Of course, with Lotor’s luck, he has barely managed to close his eyes before the ship rocks violently to the left and a dozen alarms start ringing throughout the ship.

Lotor is running towards the bridge in a matter of ticks, needing to be where he can be most useful. “What happened?” He demands as soon as he reaches the bridge.

“An Altean ship,” Marzila informs him, already firing on the ship and adjusting their own shielding. “It was cloaked and it’s using some kind of long range missiles; we didn’t see it until a tick before the missile landed.”

“Damage?”

“Not as bad as it could have been,” Thace says. “We had shields up already.”

Lotor joins Narti’s side, taking in the situation fast. “Have you called the attack in?” Narti inclines her head, just as Lotor expected her to do. “Revert power to the hyperdrive and get me manual control of the helm.”

“Sire?” Marzila turns to Lotor, confused, but not arguing his decision.

“There is a rather capricious nebula nearby, if I am not mistaken,” Lotor says as he moves to take the helm while adapting a more relaxed posture, and flashing Marzila the kind of cocky smirk that would make his father direct his worst withering glare at Lotor.

Marzila’s expression flickers from impressed to worried, until finally settling somewhere between the two. Lotor ignores her in favor of getting the ship where he wants it to be.

There is a reason manual control of anything larger than a fighter during hyperdrive, battle situations, and in dangerous environments is not recommended, but those warnings are meant for people who have not been under Zarkon’s personal tutelage for thousands of years. Lotor keeps his eyes on his screen and the arrow that shows his direction, making sure he is approaching the nebula and ignoring the sight of the space blurring around the ship as they enter their first hyperdrive jump, leaving the Altean vessel behind for now.

Most skilled pilots learn to jump manually, simply because while it is not recommended, sometimes a ship will be damaged and manual jumps are necessary. The goal is to watch the monitor and keep the tip of the arrow pointed in the desired direction while avoiding crashing into anything. Keeping the direction is the easy part. Not crashing into anything is a lot harder, and requires quick reflexes and the ability to stay calm, both of which Lotor has.

They make it to the nebula with no problems, but while the rest of the crew on the bridge takes a moment to be happy about their escape, Lotor focuses on getting through the nebula in one piece. He keeps his eyes on the viewing screens rather than the monitors, as they will become useless the moment they enter the nebula.

The yellow and blue cloud swallows the ship whole, and the last clear signal the monitors give is a warning of the Altean ship exiting hyperdrive behind them. Lotor does not worry about it; he knows what he is doing, and though he knows not to underestimate his enemy, he does not allow himself to worry either.

The silence on the bridge is loaded and heavy as Lotor takes the ship deeper into the nebula. The cloud is just as capable of destroying the ship as the Alteans are, and Lotor is fully aware of that fact. He knows to respect the nebula, his father had made sure of it.

The Altean ship moves slower than Lotor’s, hesitation clear in its movements. Lotor smirks, but does not relax. He focuses on getting out of the nebula undetected, and once he succeeds in that, he will fire a shot into the nebula and fry the Altean ship to crisp.

Lotor takes the ship low, below the Altean one, and slowly makes his way out of the nebula the way they got in.

They almost make it before the Alteans spot them and launch a missile at them. Marzila curses and Thace scrambles to pull the shields up. Lotor dodges, but the missile going off makes the gasses of the nebula explode. The ship gets caught in the shockwave, tumbling out of Lotor’s control and careening through space.

Lotor crashes against the controls before the ship tilts and drops him on the floor head first. Narti’s tail smacks on his side when she falls while Thace hits the wall with a pained grunt. Marzila is the first one standing when the ship stills, and she rushes to the controls.

“We’ve lost hyperdrive and 87 percent of shields,” she informs the others.

Lotor grits his teeth and pushes himself up, his head pounding from coming into contact with the floor. “The Altean ship?”

“Caught in the explosion. I can’t say if it’s in one piece or not,” Marzila replies.

Lotor doesn’t hesitate before turning the autopilot back on, and he sets their destination before slumping back on the ground; his insides hurt too much for him to stay upright. “Get the shields fixed and comms online. We need hyperdive as soon as possible.”

“On it,” Thace replies while Narti makes her way to Lotor. She touches his shoulder, a calm spreading through Lotor for two ticks before she withdraws her hand. Lotor frowns, but doesn’t chastise her.

They have to get back to the base, and Lotor decides to focus on that rather than his injuries or Narti’s concern.

* * *

They are floating — weightless.

Adrift in nothing, a bright light surrounding them.

There is no time, no up or down or left or right. There is nothing but them, and the blinding white of the quintessence.

Keith holds Zarkon tighter, closer to himself. He’s not sure if Zarkon is conscious anymore (he’s not sure he himself is conscious anymore), but the bond hums gently, so Keith doesn’t worry.

The quintessence thrums through his veins, through his body, his mind. If Keith were to open his eyes, he’d see the quintessence pulse around him, shining brightly, full of energy he cannot begin to comprehend. But Keith is content to rest where he is. He has no need to move, no need to do anything at all but exist there, with Zarkon, in the not quite silent brightness cradling them.

It would be as close to heaven as Keith can imagine if the constant hum would stop. It’s almost like a conversation held without words, shifts in the quintessence, a mood here, and feeling there. It is a language Keith is familiar with, but one he can’t understand. It’s far more complex than anything he and Zarkon have ever tried with their bond; there’s a melody to it, a complexity Keith can only admire from afar.

Keith’s attention drifts from the hum of conversation to Zarkon. He likes having his attention on Zarkon. It’s easier than trying to understand the hum echoing around him.

So Keith buries his face in Zarkon’s neck, and lets himself get lost in their bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so right now I'm working on this and another fic for a different ship, and I'm gonna be frank, due to time constraints I'm gonna prioritize one over the other, most likely based on just how many people are engaging with each fic. Not trying to get anyone to feel like they have to engage, but since I'm starting uni soon and I have to move, and I'm probably gonna be opening commissions so that I can fund said move, I'm busy. Basically the update schedule is going to be slower for one fic and faster for the other, that's all. Don't worry about it, just be aware that the updates might not be as fast as they normally are.
> 
> And as always, I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Saremina__), where I'm gonna be posting news on updates and such.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro doesn’t panic, exactly. His heart does drop when he hears Lotor’s ship is under attack, and he worries, but the world continues moving as it should and when the news that the situation is over arrive, Shiro returns to studying the latest updates on the Galran civil war (not that anyone dares to call it that in front of the Galra).

Some warlord has claimed another star system, and two are fighting over another one with little to no care about the civilians and non-Galrans getting trampled. It’s depressing to read, but Shiro manages, and once he’s done he updates their maps and files.

After that’s done, he gets a late lunch with Pidge, Hunk and Sam. They don’t talk much, but it’s comfortable, and they could all use a bit of comfortable these days.

Later, Sallo and Coran arrange for Lotor’s ship to be towed back to the base while Shiro busies himself with going over their current plan to gather more supplies with Kolivan.

By the time Lotor arrives it’s closer to midnight, but Shiro has stayed up. He hasn’t been waiting as much as he’s been working, but seeing Ezor and Narti hovering near Lotor as they slowly make their way into the base eases the tightness around Shiro’s chest. His eyes meet Lotor’s, and the minute softening of Lotor’s expression makes Shiro breathe easier. Lotor returns his attention back to Ezor, and Shiro returns to his room, ready to call it a night.

Shiro is already in bed when a familiar soft knock on the door drags him out from under the covers. He wasn’t asleep yet, so he doesn’t mind; he’d just prepared for the possibility that Lotor would stay away after all he’s been through while he was away. Though maybe he should have assumed that Lotor, being a Galra and the Galra being social creatures, would seek out company.

Shiro smiles as he opens the door and lets Lotor in. “Rough day?”

“Is it that obvious?” Lotor slumps on the nearest chair. “I must be losing my touch.”

“No, I’m just guessing.” Shiro grabs the bottle of liquor from the shelf, two glasses, and joins Lotor by the table. Lotor doesn’t look convinced, but he accepts the glass Shiro hands him and stays quiet.

“Are you staying the night?” Shiro asks a minute later, breaking the comfortable silence.

Lotor sighs and tips his head back, his hair, matted with blood, falling from his shoulders. “If you insist.”

Shiro smiles into his glass and nods. He wants to ask about the blood, about the tense way Lotor moves and why he holds his left arm so close to his body. But he doesn’t, not tonight. It’s late and Lotor is too tired, and Shiro would rather not deal with Lotor’s snarkier side.

“Go ahead,” Lotor says, and Shiro wants to curse. Of course Lotor has to pick up on his desire to ask about his injuries. he can probably smell it on Shiro or something — like a Galra thing. Or maybe it’s some supernatural sense he inherited from Zarkon. That’d make sense.

“Are you hurt or did you just forget to wash the blood away?”

“It’s a scratch, I will live. My insides will heal and my wrist is not broken,” Lotor replies. “It is nothing that warrants wasting our limited resources.”

Shiro frowns, downs the last of his drink, and gets up. He fetches the first aid kit he keeps for minor injuries from his closet and brings it to Lotor. “Strip.”

“I am really not in the mood right now,” Lotor retorts, and Shiro shoots him a withering glare in return. Lotor’s smile fades and he sighs, but he stands and takes his clothes off, revealing the massive bruising on his middle, creating an afterimage of the edge of the console Lotor had crashed into. Shiro winces in sympathy, then gets to work.

Lotor remains still while Shiro patches him up, only speaking when Shiro addresses him directly, answering questions about pains and aches, assuring Shiro he’s not hurting Lotor. Once he’s done with Lotor’s injuries, Shiro gets a wet towel and rubs the dried blood from Lotor’s face and hair. The blood in Lotor’s hair has matted and caked, and though Shiro gets most of it off, it leaves Lotor’s hair with a faint, pink tinge.

“You ever consider getting highlights?” Shiro asks just to get a rise out of Lotor.

“No. My hair is perfect the way it is,” Lotor replies, narrowing his eyes just as Shiro had hoped he would. Shiro smiles and guides Lotor to bed, and they settle in, side by side, not exactly cuddling, but not trying to keep distance either.

* * *

Lotor agrees to let Narti go with the druids to gather equipment from a base. She gets along with them surprisingly well, and though Lotor is wary of her spending time with them he allows it, simply because it makes Narti happy to be around people who do not grow uncomfortable around her and her abilities.

Giving Ezor permission to go on a mission with Lance is a little harder, but he does that as well. Ezor will get too antsy if she does not get to run around every now and again, after all.

While his generals are busy on their missions, Lotor focuses on the safety of his people. He would go and reclaim the throne if he could, but no matter how much he looks into it, he cannot find a way to accomplish that goal. And even if he managed to get to the throne, there is no guarantee the Galra would follow him. In fact, going by Lotor’s short go at being the Emperor, the Galra are far more likely to kill him on sight.

But he has to do  _ something  _ to help his people. He has to.

As soon as he figures out how.

“Problem?” Kolivan’s voice snaps Lotor out of his head, but he does not show it.

“No.” Lotor turns to Kolivan, taking care to not reveal anything, pulling up the mask of casual confidence and ease. “Everything is fine.”

Kolivan studies Lotor, and Lotor studies him. They have little trust in each other and they are both aware of it, but they have respect for each other as leaders, and they are capable of working together rather well when their interests line up. It is the same with Lotor and the Rebellion and Paladins as well; they are all forced into this impossible situation, and their only chance of survival is to work together and have some trust in each other.

But there are limits to that trust, and Lotor does not trust or like Kolivan enough to share his thoughts.

“Did you want something?”

Kolivan’s ears twitch minutely and the line of his mouth hardens, but it is gone in a blink of an eye. Lotor sees it, though, and he makes a mental note of it. “My people have a few ideas on how to help the civilians caught in the Empire’s infighting.”

_ His people.  _ Lotor almost scoffs. He almost asks if the Galra living within the Empire are somehow beneath Kolivan and his ideals, but he swallows the words down and forces his face to smile. “I doubt  _ they  _ have anything new to offer.” Lotor practically sees the scowl his father would throw at him for the hint of snark in his voice, but he does not care.

Kolivan, to his credit, does not react. “We have a lot of experience with avoiding the Empire’s military. It gives us a unique perspective I fear you lack.”

Lotor’s eyebrows climb up without his permission, and he huffs a quiet, cold laugh. What does Kolivan know of Lotor’s perspective? A traitor to the Empire has no place even considering his opinion is worth anything to Lotor, much less that he should voice it. And yet here Kolivan is, thinking he knows better than Lotor.

“I meant no offense,” Kolivan says. “Simply that we have different experiences, and they might be beneficial to you.”

“You claim you care about the people and I am supposed to believe that when you and your people, as you call them, want to see the Empire fall?” Lotor cocks his head. “I have no interest in hearing your opinions.”

Kolivan frowns. “We don’t want the Empire to fall, just... the way it is, the quintessence harvesting and how the Empire treats anyone not Galra, it is not right. You must know that.”

“You have no right to decide what is right for  _ my  _ people,” Lotor counters.

Kolivan looks ready to argue, but he stands down, inclining his head curtly. “Of course. But, should you desire another perspective on the matter, we are at your disposal. We have no desire to see civilians harmed and we would like to help if we can.” With that, Kolivan leaves.

Lotor tries not to feel like he had just failed in some manner. Kolivan had only wished to help, after all. Perhaps Lotor can talk to him later, approach him casually and inquire after his ideas.

Or he could get Shiro to do it for him. That might work better.

* * *

Lance follows Ezor, trying to move as quietly as she does to no avail. He comforts himself by deciding it’s a Galra thing, and there is no way he could ever move as quietly as she does.

“This way.” Ezor bolts behind the crates, skillfully dodging the searchlights. Lance watches her go, impressed and crushing just a bit. Not the I’m-in-love kind of a crush, mind you, but... she’s pretty awesome. In a platonic friend way.

Lance follows Ezor less gracefully, but he still manages to dodge the searchlights. Ezor snickers, grinning at Lance, and continues on her way. Lance scrambles after her, wondering once again how he got roped into infiltrating the Galran mining base.

And why a mining base? What could be so important that they had to come here? Lance curses himself for not demanding more details, for allowing his need for some excitement to get the better of him.

“We’re almost there,” Ezor whispers as she comes to a halt behind a row of large crates. Lance crouches next to her, peering through the small gap between the crates at the gates into the mines.

“What’s in there?” Lance asks as he calculates the distance from where they are to the gates.

Ezor grins. “Something fun.”

Lance considers arguing or at least questioning her further, but decides to trust her judgment. She’s the one who dragged him here in the first place, so she should know what they’re going to be up against. “So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is that you put those sniper skills of yours to good use as soon as you start hearing screams and shots. I sneak in and do a little thieving. I’ll get in without a problem, but getting out is when you’re gonna cover me. Okay?”

Lance studies Ezor’s carefree, confident smile, the casual tilt of her head, and the ease she’s at before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Ezor helps Lance find a good spot to hide and observe the yard teeming with sentries, Galra, and to Lance’s horror, prisoners the Galra are watching closely. Lance grits his teeth, considering shooting the Galra and saving the prisoners.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ezor says, seemingly reading Lance’s mind. “You get to shoot when I’m in the clear, okay? If you risk my life Lotor and the others are going to rip you to shreds.”

Lance narrows his eyes. He could do without the threats, he’s not stupid. He knows opening fire without a plan would be dangerous. Even if he considered it just now. “I can do this.”

“Lets hope so.” Ezor disappears, vanishing into thin air before Lance’s eyes, and if Lance wasn’t so stunned by it he’d tell Ezor that he’s perfectly capable of completing any task given to him, thank you very much.

Lance grumbles and settles in, his bayard forming into a sniper rifle with ease. He takes aim, pushing his anger aside and focusing on the mission at hand.

Most people are surprised by it, but Lance is good at waiting when he needs to be. He has to be: you can’t be a sniper if you don’t have the patience to stay still and wait. He searches for targets while he waits, not because he wants to start shooting ahead of schedule, but to see where the guards and sentries are and to calculate trajectories.

Fifteen minutes later alarms blare to life and the Galra and sentries spring to action.

“Help!” Ezor calls over the comms, not sounding at all like she actually needs help. But Lance doesn’t care, he takes aim, and starts shooting the sentries down. The prisoners take the opportunity to run and Lance covers their escape as much as he can.

Ezor bursts into the yard, riding a motorcycle, much to Lance’s surprise. He gawks at the sight, watching Ezor run over a sentry without a care in the world.

“Get your ass moving!” Ezor yells over the comms, and Lance starts before jumping down from his high place, the jets of his armor firing and propelling him forward. He rolls when he lands, and sprints towards Ezor. He hops behind her, clinging to her with all he has as she speeds away from the mine. A shot rings over their head, and Lance holsters his bayard and steals Ezor’s weapon, firing over his shoulder at anyone who tries to chase them.

Their journey to their ship is not long, and they’re up in the air and flying away in a matter of minutes. Ezor grins at Lance, and Lance has a hard time not grinning back.

“Why did we steal a bike?” Lance still asks, despite the joyous excitement Ezor has infected him with.

“Because it’s awesome,” Ezor replies. “And because it’s useful. Fast, easy to maneuver, and most importantly, it’s ours.”

Lance nods. A bike would definitely be useful. They could use a way to move fast on ground, especially now that they need every advantage they can get. “Do I get to ride it?”

Ezor laughs. “Maybe. We’ll have to see if you’ve got what it takes first.”

Lance stands a little taller, puffing his chest. “Of course I do! Just you wait, I’m gonna blow your mind with my amazing bike riding skills.”

“Can’t wait.” Ezor smiles, chuckling quietly, and heads towards the bridge with Lance rushing after her.

* * *

Shiro and Thace corner Marda and Rinde the next time they come to the base. Haala and Marzila had invented a mission out of thin air and taken a small team on it, and Kolivan and Lotor are in the process of discovering just how well two people can avoid each other in their small base. The Rebellion agents with them are focused on their tasks, along with the druids, and Blaytz has retreated back into the lake.

It left the base unusually quiet, and gave Thace and Shiro the perfect opening to get some answers. They trap Marda and Rinde in a small room, and Thace leans against the door for good measure, making it clear no one is leaving until he says so.

“This is pointless,” Marda sighs, crossing her arms and giving Thace an annoyed look.

“If you’d explain where you’ve been for the past two decades, I wouldn’t have to trap you,” Thace counters. Rinde and Shiro exchange looks, both uncomfortable being there when the siblings argue. “Now start talking,” Thace demands.

Marda huffs, her ears flicking. Thace stares at her, and eventually Marda’s shoulders slump. “I don’t... we studied a micro rift, turns out it was a corridor the Alteans of the other universe had burrowed. I got into an escape pod before the ship was torn to shreds, and the pod fell through the corridor. That’s it.”

“Not that it’s my business, but why didn’t you ever try to contact them again?” Shiro nods towards Thace. “I mean, they’re your family.”

Marda’s face twitches. She turns her back on Thace and Shiro, and doesn’t answer. Eventually Rinde sighs. “They’ll find out eventually.”

Marda shrugs, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

“I’ll give them the short version?” Rinde waits until Marda shrugs again before turning to Shiro and Thace. “So, short version: the Alteans caught her, ran a few... tests. I was undercover in that base, got caught, a few less than great things happened and we escaped.”

Rinde looks down, his eyes haunted. He shakes himself, looking back up, but his mile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We came to this reality to hide, but the Alteans were following us so we had to keep moving. We actually hid on your planet for a while.” Rinde nods at Shiro, who raises an eyebrow in return.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Nice place. We were on this warm desert, with a city nearby. I had a lot of fun going to the mall and people watching. You’re not bad people.” Rinde smiles at the memory for a moment before growing serious again. “We kind of stole something so we had to leave eventually, and we’ve been moving ever since. We’re on good terms with the Resistance in the other universe, actually. If you want, I’m sure they’d like to meet up with you. They could help you, and you could help them, right?”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees.

Thace crosses his arms. “What did you steal?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marda says, her voice quiet.

Shiro frowns. “Did you leave what you stole on Earth, by any chance?”

Marda and Rinde exchange looks.

Thace pushes himself off the door. “The Blue Lion?”

Marda turns around, genuine surprise on her face. “It was on Earth?”

Thace tilts his head, confusion taking over his expression. “Yes. You didn’t know? Then what did you...”

“Keith,” Shiro says quietly, as if speaking too loudly might bring forth trouble. “He’s half Galra, half Altean, and there are no Alteans here, so it’d make sense he came from the other reality — at least on one side of the family. And Alfor was way too interested in him. At the time I thought it was just because of Keith’s connection to Zarkon, but... if you... I mean, if Alfor knew he existed and wanted him, then that’d make sense too. That Alfor would want him.”

Not to mention Rinde’s markings are almost identical to Keith’s. Which would mean...

Thace’s eyes widen, his attention shifting between Shiro, Marda and Rinde slowly. “Did you... did you steal Keith?”

“I’m guessing that’s one way of putting it.” Shiro levels Rinde and Marda with a hard look. “Blaytz says there are no Galra in the other universe, and that Alfor wanted a specific kind of a child that needed both Galran and Altean blood, and one of those things from the rift. What I don’t get is how you got him to look like human.”

“Easy, really,” Rinde says a little too fast. “When you know genetics and steal a travel sized embryonic tank and a ship with enough scientific equipment, you can do a lot. The fact that Altean genes are easy to manipulate was an added bonus.”

“It was the best way to hide him,” Marda says so quietly Shiro almost misses it. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor, and Rinde steps to stand in front of her just a bit too casually.

Shiro nods and glances at Thace who is, understandably, at a loss for words. “He’s my best friend,” Shiro says. “I’m sure he’ll —”

Thace raises a hand, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Hold on, so you are — Keith is... you are his... parents?”

“Not by choice,” Marda says.

“But we were happy to have him nonetheless,” Rinde adds in a hurry.

Thace silences Rinde by lifting a finger, his ears flat as he frowns at the floor. “You are saying Keith is family?”

Oh, right, the Galra and their families. Shiro nods to himself and steps aside; this is one conversation that he has no place in, Keith’s best friend or not.

“Yes,” Marda confirms without looking at Thace.

Thace huffs and rubs his eyes. “Great. Just great.” He sighs and drops his hands. “This is going to be fun to explain to Haala.”

Marda turns to Thace, her eyes wide. “You can’t tell him. Not... just don’t tell anyone.”

Thace frowns. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not your place to share details of my personal life!” Thace stares at Marda, and she stares right back at him, her eyes pleading, her shoulders set in determination.

“Haala knows Keith,” Thace argues. “I arranged for him to be the one to be put in charge of Keith when the Empire caught him, and he still thinks it’s his job to look after him. I cannot, in good conscience, keep this from him.”

“Well, you’re going to. This is not yours to share. I will tell him and the others when I’m ready, okay?” Thace looks ready to argue, and Marda’s face hardens. “ _ Okay?  _ ”

“Okay,” Thace grumbles. “Fine. Just... don’t keep things from  _ me  _ . I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

Marda relaxes. “I’ll try.” She turns to Shiro. “Do you want to get in touch with the Resistance? We’ve already told them about your group, and they are open to the idea.”

Shiro nods. “Okay. We’ll meet them. I’ll talk to Lotor about it, but I’m sure he’ll agree.” He glances between Marda and Thace. “I’ll... leave you to talk. I need to go over this whole Resistance thing with Lotor.” He offers Rinde a nod and heads for the door.

Rinde makes quick excuses and hurries after Shiro, catching up to him in the hallway. “I can clear things up and answer questions,” he explains.

“Sure,” Shiro replies. They both know it’s an excuse to get away from Marda and Thace while they talk, but it’s one Shiro is more than happy to indulge in. The two deserve their privacy while they talk, after all.

* * *

Convincing Lotor that meeting with the Resistance of the other reality is easy. A lot easier than Shiro expected, in fact, and he had thought Lotor would agree to it. “We could use the help,” Lotor reasons. “And they have fought the Alteans longer than we have.”

Of course Lotor would be logical about it.

“So, I’ll tell our people you want to meet them?” Rinde asks, his gaze darting from Lotor to Shiro.

“Yes,” Shiro confirms. “Thank you.”

Rinde nods and leaves Shiro and Lotor, saying he’ll be in the kitchen should anyone need him. Once he’s gone, Shiro turns to Lotor. “You think this is a good idea?”

“It is something. If nothing else we might gain a better understanding of how they travel between the realities.”

Shiro nods slowly. “And if we understand that, we might be able to pull Keith and Zarkon from the rift.”

Lotor smiles and inclines his head. “Precisely.”

They sit down, coming up with things they should ask the Resistance, and what their conditions to working with them should be. Neither of them is willing to blindly trust the Resistance, but they can build trust.

“We should ask Blaytz if he knows anything about the Resistance,” Shiro suggests. “He might have some insight to offer.”

Lotor inclines his head. “You do that. I do not like cutting this short, but I have to contact Acxa and debrief her.”

Shiro stands and heads to the door. “Do you know where he is?” If Blaytz is in the bottom of the lake again, Shiro will have to figure out what he’s going to do while he waits for Blaytz to resurface.

“I believe he is assisting Hunk in some Lion related thing. I did not pay that much attention to their conversation.” Shiro doesn’t buy it — Lotor always pays attention to everything — but he nods and heads to the hangar they keep the Yellow Lion anyways, leaving Lotor to contact Acxa in peace.

Blaytz is there with Hunk, just as Lotor had said, and Shiro clears his throat before approaching them. Hunk smiles at Shiro and sets his pad down on the crate he’s dragged to the feet of the Lion.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks as a greeting.

“Blaytz was just telling me what he knows about Voltron maintenance. Since we don’t have access to the Castleship anymore,” Hunk replies.

Blaytz smiles that kind, unassuming smile of his that Shiro is starting to think is a mask he hides behind. “It’s nothing, really. Just sharing what little information I have.”

“Well, I could use some information too,” Shiro says. “If you’ve got the time.”

Hunk and Blaytz glance at each other before Blaytz nods slowly. “I can spare you a moment or two.”

“I’ll go see if Coran needs help with dinner in the meantime,” Hunk says. He stretches his arms, his shoulders popping. “We can continue this later?”

“Of course,” Blaytz agrees before turning to Shiro. “What can I do for you?”

Shiro moves out of Hunk’s way and watches him drudge away before returning his attention to Blaytz. “We’ve been thinking about meeting up with the Resistance of the other reality. Do you know anything about them?”

Blaytz frowns, thoughtful. “I know of them. It wasn’t a big movement when I was still there, but they’re a tight group of people, kind of like your Rebellion. They’re more underground, though. I’ve had dealings with some of their operatives, but I’ve never gotten deep in with them.”

Shiro crosses his arms and leans against the Lion’s leg while Blaytz moves the pads on the crate aside and hops to sit on it. “Do you think they can be trusted?”

“To a degree,” Blaytz replies. “Their goals are not your goals, and their methods are different. They are not going to be happy if you go in and try to get them to join your cause or change their methods to fit yours, but if you want intel from the other side or occasional help, they’re good for that. Just keep in mind that they are from another reality. Different rules and all that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Right now we could use all the help we can get, and intel on what the Alteans are doing on that side of the rift would be useful.” Shiro bites his lip. He wants to ask Blaytz about the experiments Alfor had ran. If Keith... Shiro shakes his head; he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“Is something wrong?” Blaytz asks.

Shiro meets his eyes and forces himself to relax. “No. No, I’m just tired. There’s a lot going on.”

Blaytz studies Shiro, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to question Shiro further, but he opts to not do so. Instead he leans back and nods. “Make sure you ask the Resistance about any rift activity they might have detected. If we’re lucky, the rift spit Keith and Zarkon out on the other side or they’ve managed to get out on their own.”

“You think they could do that?”

Blaytz merely smiles. “They have the Black Lion and each other, I have no doubt they could save themselves if they’re in a position to do so.” He hops down from the crate and straightens his clothes. “And besides, Zarkon can out stubborn anything. The rift doesn’t know what its dealing with if it tries to keep him for longer than he wants to stay.”

There’s something wistful in Blaytz’s expression as he gets lost in his thoughts, and Shiro waits in silence for Blaytz to return his attention to the world around him. When he does, Shiro pushes himself off the Lion and starts walking towards the doors, with Blaytz by his side. To cheer the mood up, Shiro asks Blaytz about when he’s planning on going on his next information gathering mission. “I think you’ve gotten Matt hooked on that sticky candy goo you brought him a few weeks back.”

Blaytz laughs. “I’ll have to get more of it, then. And more liquor for you and Lotor, I imagine.” He levels Shiro with a knowing look, and Shiro fights off a blush.

“It’s not —“

“Please, I’m too old to care who you’re sleeping with. Just make sure it doesn’t start affecting your operations.” Blaytz frowns, tilting his head. “You should be more concerned about Zarkon. Galra can get homicidally protective of their children, and I can’t imagine he likes you very much after you’ve piloted his Lion and slept with Keith.”

Shiro stops in the middle of the corridor, all color drained form his face. He hadn’t thought about that. Why hadn’t he thought about that? Why had he not spared even a second to consider the fact that Lotor is Zarkon’s son, and Zarkon  _ hates  _ Shiro. He’ll murder Shiro in some imaginative way if he ever comes back, and no one is ever going to find Shiro’s body. If there’s going to be a body left to find.

Blaytz continues on his way, oblivious to Shiro’s sudden distress. “Who knows, maybe you’ll catch him in a good mood and he won’t mind you bedding his only child. Maybe he won’t care. Stranger things have happened.”

Shiro lets out a strangled laugh and hurries to catch up with Blaytz. “You think I shouldn’t be with Lotor.”

“That’s not what I said,” Blaytz point out, glancing at Shiro. “I think you two are good for each other. Just... don’t use him as... what was the term Lance used? Rebound? for Keith. I have no doubt Lotor and Keith can keep Zarkon from maiming you, but that’s only if you don’t use Lotor and toss him aside the first chance you get.”

Shiro doesn’t bother hiding how offended Blaytz’s words make him. “I’d never do that.”

“Then you should have nothing to worry about.” Blaytz offers Shiro a bright smile. Shiro rolls his eyes and walks a little faster.

* * *

Allura crawls through the maintenance shaft, following the mice leading her way. She’d been so glad to see them again, as they had disappeared shortly after the Alteans had arrived. On hindsight, they had been the smart ones. Again.

The maintenance shaft isn’t as comfortable as Allura had thought it would be when she’d entered it; it seems almost impractical in its tightness. How are people supposed to work in these conditions?

Allura reaches another junction, and she takes great care to follow the mice as quietly as she can. She’d accidentally kicked the walls at an earlier junction, and she has no doubt that if someone was in the vicinity, they heard it and she’s racing against time. She just needs to get one more floor down.

As soon as she clears the turn, she moves just a bit faster in case the guards in the corridors have informed that... man wearing her father’s face of any strange sounds coming from the walls.

How had she not seen the truth immediately? She should have. It should have been obvious to her that whoever the man claiming to be her father is, he’s most definitely  _ not  _ her father.

But she had wanted him to be. That desire to have her father back had burned away everything else, and now everyone is paying for it. Allura girts her teeth and vows to herself that she will remedy the situation, no matter what. She is not going to allow anyone to suffer for her mistakes.

Allura is so lost in thought that she doesn’t register the vent she just crawled over opening until it hits the ground below and a strong hand wraps around her ankle. Allura kicks and tries to drag herself away, but she’s pulled through the opening and onto the corridor floor. She lands with a pained grunt, glaring at the guards standing around her. Their weapons are drawn, but they won’t hurt Allura without a direct order and Allura knows it.

Allura bolts to her feet and makes a run for it, only to have Hira smash the butt of her rifle against her face with enough force to knock her back down. Allura’s vision swims, blood dripping to the floor from her nose and split lip.

“What do we do with her?” One of the guards asks, a hint of frustration in his voice. It makes Allura smirk, though she keeps her eyes to the ground; better not give them any more reasons to view her as an enemy.

Hira shifts, her eyes burning against the back of Allura’s head. “Put her in a cell for now. She will be safe there until we can secure her room.” No one mentions the unspoken  _ again, _ and Allura doesn’t say there’s nothing that can keep her from escaping again. She has a goal, and she intends to achieve it, no matter what.

The guards take her to the cell, not bothering to give her anything for her bleeding nose and lip. It’s all they can do to her without the man pretending to be Alfor growing angry at them.

Allura holds her head high as she’s walked into the cell, and the door is locked behind her. She doesn’t give the guards the satisfaction of seeing her falter, not even for a tick. She keeps up the quiet, dignified front as she sits down, fully aware of the cameras on her.

It takes a varga for the fake Alfor to make his way to Allura, the disappointment on his face too much like that of a father disappointed with his child.  _ It’s not real,  _ Allura reminds herself. “These escapades of yours must end,” Alfor says, as if he has any right to tell Allura what to do. “You are making it difficult for us to focus on what matters.”

“And what is that?” Allura demands.

Alfor shakes his head, his smile empty. “We have been through this already. You are not going to drag me into another argument about what you consider to be right and wrong. I am doing what is best for the universe, as we as Alteans are supposed to do. It’s our duty, and I would hope my own daughter would at least see the truth.”

Allura wants to yell, to scream and deny any relation to this man, but she keeps her mouth shut. Fighting was what got her locked in her room in the first place, and she doesn’t need any more restrictions placed on her at that moment.

When it becomes clear Allura is not going to continue the discussion, Alfor nods once and leaves her alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing commissions on twitter so I'm gonna be focusing mainly on that and apartment hunting for a while (because moving at a short notice is super expensive and stressful), but I'm gonna try to squeeze in an update at some point.
> 
> I hope you liked this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started uni and it completely took over all my free time so that's why getting this up took forever.

Marda and Rinde arrange for a meeting between Shiro, Lotor, and the Resistance. It takes time, and while they wait Lotor focuses his attention mostly on the Empire while Shiro focuses on the Alteans. They still have their private moments behind closed doors — a little peace from the horrors of the world, their nights of escape when they can pretend the world is not burning around them.

It means nothing and everything, and Shiro learns to pretend he’s not just a little bit attached to Lotor.

* * *

“You look troubled,” Blaytz observes late one night, leaning against the desk overflowing with the druids' equipment, a tea cup in his hands, his eyes kind as he studies Lotor.

“I am well,” Lotor assures him without taking his eyes off the readouts on his computer screen. Blaytz’s easy ability to read him has not grown any less disturbing as time has passed, quite the contrary: he has grown even better at picking Lotor apart. “You needn’t worry.”

Blaytz shifts. “I’m not worried, just making an observation.”

Finally, Lotor glances up, his lips pressed thin and his brow carefully furrowed to show his displeasure at the disturbance. Blaytz only smiles like Lotor is the most amusing thing he has seen in a long time.

“Zarkon makes that same face, you know.”

Blaytz’s smile widens as Lotor’s frown deepens. “He is my father, we are bound to have some similarities. I do not see why you find it so amusing.”

Blaytz’s smile fades, replaced by tiredness. He sighs and turns his gaze to his tea. “I miss Zarkon and you remind me of him. More than you’d like, I imagine.”

The screen pings and Lotor spares it a glance, but it holds no information he was not already aware of. “He told me of what happened; I find it hard to believe any of you would miss each other. Alfor certainly seems happy to kill us all.”

Blaytz looks up to Lotor, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. “Zarkon and I, we inherited our parent’s war. We worked really hard to end it and build trust — and he didn’t give trust easily back then either — so no matter how much Alfor might have been Zarkon’s supposed best friend, we had a special... bond, you could say. I broke that, and I want a chance to fix it.”

Lotor tilts his head, mulling over Blaytz’s words. His father had always been tight lipped when it came to the details of his relationships with the other original Paladins, and Lotor had not pressed.

Blaytz takes Lotor’s silence as an invitation to continue, offering Lotor a soft smile as he does so. “Your father has an incredible capacity for kindness when he is inclined towards it. Just as he has an equal capacity for cruelty. I choose to believe that time has not changed that, merely that his inclinations for one over the other have shifted.”

“You are far too optimistic,” Lotor replies, and he does not pretend it is not an insult.

But Blaytz only laughs. “Someone has to be.” He shifts, sips his tea, and tilts his head in consideration. “And besides, optimism does not mean I’m not realistic about the situation. I merely choose to hope for the best; it keeps me sane.”

Lotor looks away. The screen before him blurs, his gaze unable to focus on any particular thing before him. “And what is your take on the chances we’ll find Father and Keith alive and well?”

“They have each other and the Black Lion. I imagine they are doing far better than we are.”

“The Lion is severely damaged and going by what everyone has told me, not fond of my father,” Lotor points out.

Blaytz only chuckles and shakes his head. “The Black Lion loves Zarkon. It’s just that... it hurts the Lion, to see your father the way he is now. It doesn’t want to go near him when he’s so unlike he used to be, I imagine. But I have no doubt the Lion will rush to Zarkon’s side if he truly needs it. The kind of bond they share — that we all share with our Lions — is not easily broken or forgotten.”

Lotor inclines his head, oddly comforted by Blaytz’s certainty in his words. Perhaps there is hope, still.

“I ought to get back to work,” Lotor says. “I will be too busy in five days time, if we are to meet with the Resistance agents.”

“I’ll leave you be, then,” Blaytz says, bowing his head briefly before leaving Lotor alone in the laboratory.

It takes Lotor several dobashes to be able to focus on his work again.

* * *

The meeting with the Resistance is held on a station at the edges of the Galran Empire, too far removed from anything to be important. The station is filled with people of all species going about their business with barely a glance thrown at Shiro and Lotor. At Rinde’s advice, they’re both wearing civilian clothes, but while Shiro somewhat blends in, Lotor sticks out in his undoubtedly expensive clothing with decorative stitching and lacing.

“It was once ours,” Lotor tells Shiro quietly, his eyes scanning the station. “But it has no strategic purpose and when non-Galran’s settled in, we left them at it. Until the civil war, these people had a small Galran security team here.”

“It looks like it’s seen better days,” Shiro replies, his eyes lingering on a storefront with a cracked window.

“As I said, it holds no strategic importance. The repairs and maintenance was left to the people who decided to settle here, not to us.”

Shiro almost hopes he didn’t understand what Lotor means. Of course the Galra had left and focused on more important places, on more pressing issues. But at least they had left the station to those who used it. “I can’t imagine the Galra leaving a station,” he still says.

“We did not leave, exactly. It is still a Galran station, subject to our laws and rules, but it is run by those living here. We had people here until recently, and we did business through here. We merely allowed others to take on the majority of the duties and businesses.” Lotor spares Shiro a pointed glance. “I imagined you would be happy that we offered non-Galran’s a chance to earn a living and make something of themselves.”

“I am, it’s not that,” Shiro hurries to reply.

“Then what is it?”

Shiro shove his hands in his pockets and raises his shoulders briefly before forcing himself to relax again. “I guess I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

Lotor’s expression sours, though Shiro suspects he’s the only one who can tell; he knows Lotor intimately enough to read him. “And here I thought your opinion on us could not be any lower.”

Shiro opens his mouth to argue, but Lotor presses on. “Do you honestly think that an Empire like ours could ever be maintained if we oppressed and enslaved every living being we come in contact with?”

“No!” Shiro stops, grabbing Lotor’s arm as he does so. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. It’s just that my first experience with the Galra was a year spent fighting for my life on the Arena and being experimented on by the druids, and then I met Allura and she told us about Altea, and we only saw people suffering under Galran rule for a long time before we saw just normal people living normal lives, and by then... well, first impressions are hard to shake. I’m trying, though. I really am. I know that the bad stuff isn’t all there is to your people.”

Lotor flattens his ears minutely, but his frown fades. “We should get moving. We do not want to be late.”

Shiro smiles and nods. They make their way to the meeting place — a small bar at the very end of the station. It’s inconspicuous in the way that it’s painfully obvious, but no one spares Shiro and Lotor a second glance as they enter the dim space and make their way to the free table at the back of the bar.

A chipper waitress comes to take their order, and Shiro lets Lotor pick for them both. She fetches them wine and water, and leaves them be.

“Wine seems like a bad idea,” Shiro says.

“It will make us seem less out of place,” Lotor replies. “You don’t have to drink it.”

Shiro accepts Lotor’s expertise in these matters, and sips his water to pass the time. Not long after they settled in their seats, an Altean woman and a person covered in red and blue armor approach them. She sits, smiling pleasantly. She’s dressed in plain clothes, her pale red hair tied in a loose bun.

“I’m told you wanted to meet us.” Her eyes flicker to Lotor, taking him in, quick and curious, before landing on Shiro.

“You’ve got more experience with the Alteans than we do,” Shiro replies. “We were hoping you might share some information or work with us, as we’ve got a common enemy.”

The Altean nods slowly. “We do. And it would be smart for us to work together. However, we know nothing of you. All we know is that the people that took over our reality came from here.”

Shiro and Lotor share a look. They had talked about this, at Blaytz’s suggestion; he had thought Alfor’s origin coming up would be something they should be prepared for.

“We are aware of his origins, but Alfor is hardly the only representative of our universe,” Lotor says, sitting straighter. “Moreover, he is Altean, using an Altean force. We are a joint operation between various people from several different planets and Galrans. Alfor came here to attack _us._ I would imagine that should be enough proof to anyone that we are not on his side.”

The Altean shifts. “Still — “

“Furthermore,” Lotor continues. “His army is from _your_ reality. His weapons and ships, his technology, the people who he commands, are all from your reality. Why should we not question your motives for meeting us? For all we know, you could be Alfor’s spies.”

It shuts the Altean up, and she studies Shiro and Lotor with sharper eyes.

“We’re not asking you to tell us all your secrets or access to everything you have, we’re just hoping to share some information,” Shiro says. “We can start building trust.”

The Altean considers it, sharing a quiet, brief conversation with her companion before turning back to Shiro and Lotor. “We are open to that.”

Shiro nods. “Then let’s talk.”

* * *

Pidge and Hunk are less than excited to wait for Shiro and Lotor on the ship, but they manage to pass the time. They try to figure out all the different outcomes for the meeting, and how the space station looks like inside. When that grows old, they move on to speculating how they might defeat the Alteans.

“We could sneak up onto the Castleship and hack our way to victory,” Pidge suggests. “I could hack the ship.”

“I could help,” Hunk says. “After dinner, though. The newest food shipment had some interesting looking vegetables in it and I want to try them out.”

“I could go for a burger.” Pidge slumps on the floor and lies down, just because she can. “A good, old-fashioned, Earth cheeseburger.”

Hunk groans. “Don’t remind me of those! You’re breaking my heart.”

“If I have to suffer from the lack of decent burgers, I’m taking you down with me.”

Hunk kicks Pidge’s toes, but his reply dies in his mouth when the doors to the ship open and Shiro and Lotor enter.

Pidge sits up. “Finally. How did it go?”

“Okay,” Shiro replies, rubbing his neck. “We’re talking. We didn’t get much we didn’t already know, but we’re talking. Baby steps and all that.”

Hunk shifts in his seat at the front of the ship. “So... we’re going to be working with them?”

“No, not yet. We are forming relations at the moment, whether or not that will lead to cooperation is yet to be seen,” Lotor says and stops to tilt his head at Hunk. Hunk hurries to get up, and he joins Pidge while Shiro takes the other seat at the controls, talking quietly to Lotor while they prep for departure.

Pidge and Hunk retreat to the back of the ship, strapping down in their seats for the initial jump away from the station.

“Think we’ll get the Resistance as friends?” Hunk asks in a hushed voice.

Pidge thinks for a moment, pursing her lips and frowning. “Don’t know. I mean, they came back with nothing more than ‘we talked’ so it’s hard to say yet. But I hope we do, we definitely need the help.”

“We did more than talk,” Shiro calls across the ship, turning to smile at Pidge, nudging his head at Lotor to indicate the source of his knowledge of Pidge’s quiet words. “We ensured we’d be able to do it again, too.”

Pidge rolls her yes. “Stop eavesdropping!”

“If you do not want me to hear what you are saying, I suggest you leave the conversation to a time when we are not trapped in a small, confined space,” Lotor replies without turning to Pidge.

Pidge grumbles under her breath, but falls silent. She’s not a big fan of the Galra listening in on her conversations.

They leave the base and the silence stretches over minutes until Hunk clears his throat, catching Shiro’s attention. “Did you learn anything?”

“Our new contact with the Resistance is an Altean named Issala, we’ve established a line of communication, and we’re going to meet again at a later time. We didn’t share any new information yet.” Shiro looks almost apologetic. “What did you do while you waited?”

“We came up with a plan to take the Castleship,” Pidge replies.

“Half a plan,” Hunk amends. “An idea.”

Pidge nudges his chin with her toes. “We could hack the defenses and get the Blue Lion and Allura, and take Alfor out.”

“The Alteans have surely not only changed all the codes to the Castleship, but updated them and added defenses in place to prevent you from getting through. You think Alfor spent time with you just to pretend to be friends?” Lotor spares Pidge an unimpressed glance. “He knows exactly what you are capable of, and he has already guarded against everything you could throw at him.”

“You don’t know that,” Pidge argues, but her voice carries a hint of hesitation that Lotor doesn’t miss.

As Pidge feared, Lotor gives her that insufferably patient, pitying look. “You are a child, I do not expect you to be aware of all the ways people are capable of behaving.”

Pidge opens her mouth to argue, but Shiro beats her to it. “Let it go, okay? Lets not start a fight while we have two hours of space flight ahead of us.”

“Is you defending your new boyfriend gonna be a thing now?” Pidge fires back before she can stop herself. She bites her lip, doing her best to keep any additional comments and apologies lodged in her throat.

While Lotor remains unaffected by Pidge’s words, Shiro has gone tense and pale. “What? No. I’m not — why would you say that?”

Pidge bites her lip harder, until she’s more focused on the pain than replying Shiro and making the situation worse.

Hunk clears his throat, and from the corner of her eye Pidge sees him motion between Shiro and Lotor. “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret. At least in our group.”

‘Our group’ is what they had started to call the Paladins, Lotor, Blaytz, Kolivan, Thace and Kiira, who had been appointed the spokesperson for the druids. Thace had once implied the Galra were aware of every romantic liaison that took place in the base, but Pidge isn’t ready to believe that.

“Well —” Shiro glances at Lotor before steeling himself “— I don’t want a fight while we’re in this ship, so cut it out and pick it up at the base if you have to.”

Pidge nods. Shiro turns back to the controls.

A moment passes, and Hunk turns to Pidge, raising an eyebrow. Pidge shakes her head; she’d rather talk back at the base. Hunk nods and after offering Pidge a soft smile, pulls his pad out and continues working on his latest project. After a moment, Pidge follows his example and gets her own pad out, and loses herself in coding.

* * *

There was little for Thace to do while he waited for Kolivan to decide if he wanted Thace as a part of the more important missions the remaining Blade agents were about to embark on. Thace did not blame Kolivan for his hesitation: Thace had sworn loyalty to Keith and taken his orders from Zarkon even after being discovered, ignoring Kolivan’s desire to have Thace join the Blade. And now, with Lotor and his family there, Thace had continued to look to Lotor for orders, rather than Kolivan.

It’s not that Thace doesn’t think Kolivan is not a capable leader, or that he doesn’t want to be a part of the Blade anymore; he simply took in the situation they were in and looked to the person clearly in charge, and that was not Kolivan. Still isn’t, in fact.

As it is, Thace may not have abandoned the Blade’s cause, but he has made it clear he is willing to disobey Kolivan’s orders if he sees fit, and it makes him a liability. No one wants a liability on their team, not when their situation is as dire as it is. Still, Thace would have liked to work with his old friends one last time.

“He’ll come around,” Rejya assures him as they settle in to take inventory of their weapons. Again. “He’s just hurt form the betrayal of... he doesn’t like knowing people were working against the Blade right before him.”

“I know,” Thace assures her. “And I don’t blame him for it, I simply want to get out there and do something productive for a change.”

“The Empire’s soldiers don’t want you around?” The smile Rejya offers Thace is trying to be teasing, but it falls short.

Thace flattens his ears and tests the edge of another blade. “They think it’s better that I don’t accompany them when they go deep into the Empire.”

Another occasion of Thace being considered untrustworthy, though Lotor does a better job at framing it as a secondary cause. When Thace had asked why he wasn’t allowed to go with Haala and Marzila to talk to a commander in a small star system, even though Thace already knew her, Lotor had simply pointed out that Thace had been outed as a traitor and his presence would cause trouble. “And I do not want you reporting to Kolivan,” Lotor had added, and the display of honesty had surprised Thace into silence.

“What of the Paladins?” Rejya asks. “They could use your help.”

Thace agrees, but he doesn’t say so. Out of all the independent factions in their base, the Paladins were the least bothered by Thace’s wavering loyalties. All they see is Thace’s willingness to protect Keith, and that’s enough for them.

It is not good enough for Thace, though. Going by that logic, the Paladins would have to accept Zarkon with no reservations as well, and he doubts that would be the case.

“Have you found the other Blade agents in the Empire yet?” Thace asks to direct the topic away from himself.

Rejya sets the pistol she’s examining down and purses her lips. “Some, but not all. The comms are unreliable throughout the Empire and we cannot reach everyone. For now, we are treating them as missing in action. If they are alive, they will report back to us when they are able. If not, then...” She doesn’t have to finish her thought.

They finish checking their weaponry in heavy silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Thace considers his life, wondering how he ended up where he is, serving Lotor because he had willingly taken an order from Zarkon while trying to get back to Kolivan’s good graces and regain his status as a Blade agent.

It’s not that Thace regrets following Zarkon’s order to protect Keith, he doesn’t; he didn’t before finding out Keith is related by blood, and he definitely doesn’t now either. It was a good order to follow. If only Kolivan saw it that way too, if only he understood that Thace’s loyalty to the Blade of Marmora is still there, and that whatever other orders he might have followed have not changed that.

It doesn’t help that Lotor seems to consider Thace’s willingness to do as Zarkon had ordered a sign that Thace harbors some form of loyalty to the Empire and the Imperial Family. Thace doesn’t, but he keeps that to himself. Lotor, for now, is working towards a goal Thace is happy to support. If that changes Thace will have no problem leaving Lotor.

Thace parts ways with Rejya as soon as they’re done with their inventory, and wanders through the base, unusually quiet with so many teams on various missions.

It takes him several dobashes, but eventually Thace stumbles upon Ezor and Lance in one of the stuffed sitting rooms, their heads pressed together, muttering quietly. They jolt apart when Thace enters, and he tilts his head, allowing his ears to twitch with curiosity.

“We’re not doing anything,” Lance says.

Ezor rolls her eyes, unimpressed with Lance. “The bike took a beating and we’re trying to figure out where to find extra parts before Lotor finds out about it and gets mad.”

Thace remembers the bike retrieving incident. It had exasperated Lotor and Acxa to no end, but no one had chided them for it.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” Thace says.

Lance and Ezor look at each other, shrug, and turn back to Thace. “That’d be great, thanks,” Lance says as he shuffles to make room to Thace on the couch. Thace inclines his head and takes the offered seat, and requests Lance and Ezor explain what their problem is.

If nothing else, helping Lance and Ezor takes Thace’s mind off of other things.

* * *

Keith isn’t sure of how much time has passed. He’s not sure he cares, not with Zarkon there, in his arms. As far as he’s concerned, nothing else matters.

Except...

Something is in the rift. Talking to him.

No, not to him, among themselves.

Keith opes his eyes, taking in the brightness of the rift for the few seconds he can before he’s forced to shut his eyes again. Whatever they are, they’re paying too much attention to Keith. No — Zarkon.

Both of them.

“Go away,” Keith mutters. “Just go away.”

The rift whispers back at him, though he cant make out the words.

“Just go _away,_ ” Keith repeats, a bit louder this time. He holds Zarkon closer, needing to have him as close as possible. “Leave us alone.”

The whispers grow more insistent, curious, almost demanding. Keith can’t understand them. Still, he knows what the voices are saying. He _knows,_ instinctively, deep in his bones, what they want.

And Keith is not going to agree to it. “Leave us alone.”

_No._

“Go. Away.”

_Familiar._

“You can’t have him.”

_You._

Keith frowns, unsure of what the voices mean. Him? What about him?

_The other._

That, Keith understands. “Touch him and I’ll kill you.”

The voices retreat, but do not disappear. They linger at the back of Keith’s mind; around him. It’s almost like they are trying to make a decision, and Keith has the feeling he won’t like what they’ll settle on. Keith holds Zarkon tighter, trying, desperately, to shield him with his own smaller body. Whatever is there in the rift with them is going to have to go through him.

A roar in the distance quiets the voices for a second. The Black Lion surges towards Keith, mouth open, her jaws clashing shut around him, plunging him into darkness.

The shock of experiencing gravity and air again keeps Keith from panicking at the sudden darkness. He coughs, trying to draw air into his lungs. His body aches from hitting the floor, his injured wrist (is it still injured?) had, luckily, been spared from the brunt of the hit.

The Lion shudders and creaks around him, and somewhere in the back of his mind Keith wonders if the Lion is about to be crushed under some invisible pressure that hadn’t touched Keith. Is the Lion drifting? Keith almost expects the Lion to flip, sending him crashing to the ceiling, but it doesn’t happen. At least not yet. Keith doesn’t write off the possibility of it happening and him landing on the ceiling-turned-floor with a wet splash.

Except... his clothes feel dry. He should be soaked in quintessence, but he’s not. Yes, he’s dripping golden white liquid all around the floor, but his clothes don’t cling to his skin like they should if he was soaked. He coughs again, pushing himself to his elbows, spitting quintessence from his lungs. The darkness around him flickers, the emergency lights trying valiantly to come on.

He was swimming in the quintessence for who knows how long. He can’t be drenched in that stuff without being soaked to the bone, right? It makes no sense. Zarkon’s clothes had felt wet from his dive into the —

 _Zarkon_.

Keith curses and scrambles to his hands and knees, not trusting his feet to carry him just yet. He reaches for Zarkon, finding him easily by his side, and sighs a relieved breath, nudging Zarkon until he’s lying on his back and resting his head on Zarkon’s chest. Keith’s chest constricts when he doesn’t hear the familiar, comforting sound of Zarkon’s heartbeat, or feel his chest move with his breaths, but the gentle barely there tug of the bond keeps Keith from panicking.

It’s just the quintessence and the rift. Hadn’t the original Paladins thought Zarkon and Honerva dead when they’d pulled them from the rift? There’s no reason for Keith to worry just yet. And the bond is still there, so Zarkon will be fine.

He has to be fine.

Keith lies there, oblivious to the pass of time. At some point, the lights flicker off and stay off, and Keith closes his eyes against the darkness.

Zarkon will be fine, Keith is sure of that. Seeming dead is normal when coming into contact with the rift, right? That’s what happened before, so it makes sense that it’d be happening now. He’ll get up and be himself soon, and then they can figure out their next move together.

But one thing bothers Keith: if the dead-like state Zarkon is in is a normal reaction to the rift, why is Keith still conscious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll make no promises on the next chapter, but I'm trying to find a balance between school and writing so I should have that down in a year or so. Hopefully sooner. An update or two will definitely come before that happens, though.
> 
> I hope you liked this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit different from the usual chapters. Also I edited this while sick and I don't have the energy to read through this yet again.

Allura sets her glass down, her movements careful and slow. If Alfor notices her discomfort he never brings it up.

“Hira tells me you are having some issues with the guards,” Alfor says, conversational as ever, seemingly oblivious to the frown Allura can’t suppress.

After taking a moment to collect herself, Allura faces him. “I don’t appreciate being under guard in my own home.”

Alfor sighs and sets his fork and knife down. “If you behaved appropriately, I wouldn’t need to put a guard on you to ensure you don’t do damage to our operations or cause problems. You understand.”

“Of course.” Allura forces herself to smile. “I understand.”

Alfor smiles, more genuine than Allura, and nods. “Good. We can start moving forward from here, then.”

Allura nods and fixes her eyes to the plate before her. The dinner continues in tense silence neither Allura or Alfor acknowledges, the only sounds penetrating it are the soft scrapes of forks against plates and glasses being raised and lowered.

Allura tries her best not to show her tenseness, how uncomfortable she is with dining with this person who is not her father. She has to make Alfor think she’s cooperating, or at least that she’s not actively trying to escape or sabotage the people who have taken over her Castleship. It is her best chance of finding out what’s going on; bringing information with her is the least she can do when she escapes and reunites with the Paladins and Coran.

And she will escape and reunite with them, even if it’s the last thing she does.

“I’m curious as to where we are at the moment,” Allura says, going for a conversational tone.

Alfor glances at her, a knowing playing smile on his lips. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. We are safe, that’s what matters.”

“And the Galra?” It’s a risky topic, Allura knows, but she’s curious and the Alteans onboard have been unusually quiet about the Galrans as of late.

Alfor takes a purposeful sip of his drink. “They are going to destroy themselves, just as I always knew they would. We pick up the few who stray too close to us, but over all they’re hardly anything for us to concern ourselves with.”

Allura forces herself to nod.

“You seem unhappy,” Alfor observes. “Don’t you want the Galra gone?”

“Of course I do,” Allura replies, and she means it. She does want the Galra Empire gone, she wants Zarkon to know how it feels to lose everything, and not long ago she’d relished the chance to see the Galra destroy themselves, but... something about the whole situation feels wrong.

“If you want to get more information on what is going on, you will have to prove to us that you can be trusted,” Alfor reminds Allura. “You could start by telling us where your human friends could have gone.”

Allura pretends to think about it. “I do not know. I’m honestly surprised they left without trying to take me along with them.” She says it mostly to try to garner some sympathy from Alfor, not because she blames the others for leaving her behind.

She understands why they did that. She knows that, at the time, it might have seemed like she was not willing to see anything wrong with Alfor. Yes, it had stung to hear they had left with the Lions and that Coran had gone with them, but at least they are safe now.

“It was rather cold of them,” Alfor agrees. “I know how that feels; it is horrible. I understand if you want to confront them about it.”

Allura nods, but doesn’t reply. She finishes her dinner, answering the menial questions Alfor asks her, and excusing herself as soon as it’s polite for her to do so. As she’s escorted back to her room by the guards that always at her side when she’s not locked up, Allura takes in the state of her home.

It should be comforting for her to see Alteans around, but the soldiers marching up and down the hallways fill her with cold dread. These people are not right; their eyes are too cold, their enthusiasm to attack the Galra and anyone who opposes them so unlike any decent Altean would ever display.

But Allura swallows her anger at the situation she’s in, and holds her head high. She hopes her less hostile demeanor will get Alfor to grant her more freedom soon, as she’s not sure how long she can keep the act up.

How had Keith survived Zarkon? How had he grown so close and fond of Zarkon, and Zarkon of him — if Keith is to be believed, at least. And Allura is ready to believe it, in a way; Shiro had a far more realistic view of Zarkon than Keith, and he’d told Allura enough for her to have to accept that Zarkon at least attempted to treat Keith somewhat decently.

Before they both died.

Allura swallows around the lump in his throat; it’s one of the things she hopes isn’t true, that Alfor is lying. She would be happy if Zarkon was gone, but Keith... Keith hadn’t deserved to die. He’d deserved better.

The door to her room closes behind Allura, and she allows her shoulders to slump as she gulps in air.

She can’t do this much longer.

* * *

“How is the princess?” Hira asks as Alfor enters the bridge. The other officers there ignore him after giving him a respectful bow of their head, knowing the discussion is not for their ears. Even Trigel and Gyrgan stop studying the scans of the space they’re currently in to acknowledge Alfor’s presence.

“She will come around,” Alfor replies. “She tries to act as if she is already doing so, it won’t be too long until her acting turns into reality.”

“We could use her acting to our advantage.”

Alfor studies the latest readings of the Galran space they had entered the previous day. The settlements there have been abandoned, the natives of the planets left to fend for themselves. It is something Alfor is sure he can take advantage of; surely the natives will be resentful of the Galra, be it for the loss of protection or their enslavement — something Alfor once had trouble believing Zarkon would be alright with, considering how much he’d hated the barbaric ideas most of the universe had held of the Galra. And here he is, proving everyone right.

Believing Zarkon was different from the previous rulers of the Galran Empire was a mistake on Alfor’s part, one that he should have seen as such a lot sooner; the Galra are never going to be more than conquering brutes willing to crush everyone else under their heel. It had been stupid of Alfor to think he could change them, a mistake he will not repeat.

Alfor turns to Hira, deciding to indulge her for now. “How?”

“If we allowed her some freedom she would escape —”

“Something I do not want happening, as you well know.”

Hira nods. “Yes, but we could track on her. The Lions have trackers, right? Or a way for us to at least find them. We could allow her to take the Blue Lion and follow her. She would lead us to the Yellow Lion and the Rebellion. We could crush them at their home base.”

Alfor frowns. It isn’t the worst idea he’s heard, but it poses too many risks to be viable without considerable planning, not to mention Allura is well aware of the Castleship’s capability to track the Lions. As if reading his mind, Trigel clears her throat. “I think I have an idea on how to track Allura without her realizing it.”

Alfor raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“We add a secondary tracker, something she would not find even if she looked for it. Perhaps on her person, even.” Trigel tilts her head, a thoughtful look passing her face. “I would need some time to develop it, but that time could be used to lay the foundation for her to believe she is escaping, rather than being allowed to do so.”

“It’s our best option if we want to find the new Paladins before they start to truly cause trouble,” Gyrgan agrees.

Alfor doesn’t cross his arms, though he wants to. Instead, he considers the proposition. It might be a viable plan, but the many problems with it would have to be addressed before he will accept it. He says as much, and both Trigel and Gyrgan assure him the issues will be dealt with as soon as possible.

“What of the Black Lion?” Gyrgan asks, glancing at Alfor with a hint of concern in his eyes, though Alfor is not sure if it’s because of him, or the issue they face with the Lion being in the rift.

“The Lion is with Zarkon. Assuming he’s alive I have no doubt he’ll find some way of bringing the Lion back from the Rift. He’ll want to be with his people, after all,” Alfor replies. Trigel and Gyrgan share an uncomfortable look. “What?”

“While I have no doubt he could escape the rift,” Trigel starts, glancing at Gyrgan briefly before continuing, “his escape would hinge on the Lion being willing to allow him to pilot it again. And if Zarkon pilots the Black Lion...”

Trigel doesn’t have to finish her thought. Alfor to know what she means: Zarkon piloting the Black Lion would be disastrous for his plans. The bond between Zarkon and the Black Lion runs deep — deeper than Alfor would like to admit — and getting the Lion back from Zarkon would be indefinitely harder than getting it back from Shiro or even Keith. Shiro would have fought for the Lion, Alfor is sure of that, as would Keith, but Zarkon...

Zarkon would go to war to keep the Lion.

Not that he’s not already going to come at Alfor with everything he has — after what Alfor has done to the Galra he expects it — but the Black Lion at Zarkon’s side is something Alfor could do without.

“We will deal with it when the time comes,” Alfor assures Trigel. “We took the Lion from Zarkon once, we can do it again. And we have no reason to think the Lion will allow Zarkon to pilot again; it is far more likely to allow Keith to do it, and Keith is not an issue.”

“Keith sides with Zarkon,” Gyrgan points out. Alfor frowns, and Gyrgan lowers his eyes to the floor.

The loss of Keith had been unfortunate, yes, but Alfor is sure they can remedy the situation. “We don’t need him to side with us, we just need to capture him. Or kill him, if that becomes the more favorable opinion; that should take Zarkon out as well, if I understand the link between them correctly. And I do.”

“Of course,” Trigel says. “Should I look into tracking Allura?” She asks, getting them back to their original topic of discussion.

Alfor is tempted to say no just on principle, but he likes having options so he nods. “Yes. I will make no decisions on the matter until I see what you come up with, but it is worth looking into.”

Trigel nods, almost bows, and leaves the bridge to get to work.

* * *

Keith isn’t sure how much time passes as he lies there on the floor, in the dark he hates as much as the light outside. It takes ages for him to get his body moving, to push himself to his hands, then to his knees. The silence of the Lion is deafening, and Keith hums quietly under his breath to stave off the paranoia bubbling inside his chest.

He needs to focus. Zarkon needs him to focus.

With that in mind, Keith takes a few deep breaths, calms himself, and settles on a plan of action. First, he needs to get Zarkon to the cot deep within the Lion, because leaving Zarkon unconscious on the floor is not something he’s willing to do. It’s just a matter of getting him to where Keith wants him.

In the end Keith ends up half carrying, half dragging Zarkon to the cot, his own body trembling from the effort, tired and weak from being in the rift for... Keith doesn’t even know how long.

Keith doesn’t care. He doesn’t have the energy for that. Instead of caring about the date, he focuses on settling Zarkon on the cot.

Tired from using his muscles for the first time in forever, Keith slumps by the cot, allowing himself to pant and get used to breathing air and using his muscles again. He hangs his head, his hair falling around his face, heavy from the quintessence clinging to it.

Keith might have fallen asleep, he isn’t sure. The Lion doesn’t look any different when he opens his eyes, and Zarkon remains dead to the world. The only thing that’s different is the crusty dryness of Keith’s clothes, but he has no idea how quintessence dries so he doesn’t use it as a way to measure the passage of time.

After making sure Zarkon is alright (or as alright as he can be), Keith pushes himself up. He needs to... do something. Sitting down is not going to do him any good, he’s better off finding out what’s going on. With that in mind, Keith grabs the emergency flashlight from under the cot and makes his way to the cockpit, figuring that’s where the answers to any questions he might come up with are.

Keith reaches the cockpit, moving on autopilot as he sits and lets his eyes wander around the consoles and screens, all dark and silent. Keith reaches to tap at the console, but nothing happens.

“You there?” Keith says — or tries to. He’s not sure he speaks out loud, though his throat hurts from the effort. No one replies to him, and after a while Keith closes his eyes, not finding it in himself to care about anything.

Eventually Keith makes his way back to Zarkon, leaning on the walls as he goes, unable to walk otherwise. It doesn’t concern him, though on some level he knows it should.

When he reaches the cot, Keith curls half on top of Zarkon and closes his eyes, clutching the flashlight to his chest. The world around them fades into nothing, and Keith can’t find it in him to care; he has Zarkon, that’s all that matters.

* * *

Time has little meaning to Keith. The only sign of it passing being the varying levels of tiredness Keith feels. He spends most of his time resting against Zarkon, his thoughts too muddled for him to really grasp a strain of thought and cling to it.

Keith doesn’t care; he has Zarkon, and he’s not drifting in the quintessence anymore, and that’s all that matters.

And besides, the Lion doesn’t have any power, so there’s nothing for Keith to do but sit around doing nothing.

* * *

Eventually Keith gets enough of a grip of himself to get up and return to the cockpit. He has no idea what he is trying to accomplish, but he’s starting to feel like he needs to do something. Keith ends up sitting in the cockpit for a long time, not really doing anything but staring at the dark screens before him.

For a brief moment, Keith wonders why he can’t get himself to act, why he can barely think, but when an immediate answer doesn’t present itself, he stops thinking about it.

Keith sighs. He wishes Zarkon would wake up and tell Keith what to do; Keith could use a second opinion on their situation, as he has no idea what to do with them trapped in the rift in a broken down Lion.

When sitting in the cockpit doesn’t work, Keith wanders through the Lion, the light of his flashlight bouncing off the walls in unfocused patterns, waiting for an idea to pop into his head, but nothing ever comes to him. Eventually he returns to Zarkon, slumping on the floor for a change. When was the last time he ate? Drank? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really care.

“Could you wake up?”

Zarkon doesn’t respond, and Keith’s ears droop. Maybe he’s dead and this is hell.

Keith swallows, shuffling on his spot until he can rest his chin on the edge of the cot, playing with the smooth fabric of Zarkon’s sleeve. “I could really use your help.”

When no response comes, Keith shoves the bond, not bothering to be gentle about it. The bond remains silent as well, but at least it’s there, a soft glow at the back of Keith’s mind. Keith pulls and prods the bond, trying to elicit even the smallest of reactions, to no avail.

“I can’t do this alone,” Keith whispers, tears stinging in his eyes.

* * *

To pass the time — fearing the power of his flashlight will run out sooner rather than later — Keith hauls all the lamps he can find to the cargo room, and distributes them across the Lion from there. The only space he leaves lamp free is the small sleeping alcove. Keith had wondered about why the Lions were equipped in a way that essentially allowed one to live in them as Voltron was rarely away from the Castle of Lions for long enough for such arrangements to be necessary, but now he’s grateful for it. Alfor might be a dick, but at least he had been thorough in his design of the Lions and any needs their pilots might face.

Keith lights the path from the cargo to the alcove, and from there to the cockpit, humming some tune he must have heard at some point as he does so. When he’s done, the Lion is less dark, even with the flickering emergency lights never truly going off. Keith prefers the additional light, and he takes a moment to sit in the cockpit floor, enjoying the lack of shadows surrounding him.

Eventually Keith meanders back to Zarkon, turning the lights off as he goes, fearing they might use what little power they have if he leaves them on for too long. The alcove is illuminated by the emergency lights, and with Zarkon there, Keith is okay with the dimness of the space.

Keith curls on the cot, half on top of Zarkon, and focuses spotting his heartbeat or his breath, trying to find some minute variation from earlier that day without success. He’s not sure if change would be good, but it would be  _ something, _ and Keith needs something.

Anything.

The monotone of his days is starting to drive him up the wall.

* * *

The first change becomes not long after Keith arranged the lamps around the Lion.

Without warning, the Lion shudders, coming to life around Keith, groaning in a way that makes Keith tense. The lights in the cockpit turn on around him, blinding Keith for the few seconds it takes him to adjust. Keith blinks, his eyes widening at the sight of the screens trying to display anything more than scrambled text and readings.

It’s gone in a matter of seconds, but it’s something. Keith sits in the darkened cockpit for what must be hours, waiting for it to happen again before scrambling back to Zarkon to tell him what just happened, even if Zarkon most likely doesn’t hear him, and offers Keith no response.

“If the power comes back on, we could get out of here,” Keith says, brushing his fingers across Zarkon’s cold cheek, smiling softly. “You could wake up, then.”

Keith can’t be sure, but he suspects Zarkon’s state has something to do with them being trapped in the rift. It’s the only thing that makes sense, and the belief gives Keith enough energy to consider the ways he might get them out of the rift. His plans don’t go anywhere, as the Lion is inoperable and Keith has no idea how to change that.

Yet.

“Or you could wake up now and tell me how to fix the Lion. You’d know, right? You know everything about Voltron.”

Knowing he’ll get no response, Keith sighs and closes his eyes, leaning on the cot and clinging to Zarkon’s hand as he drifts to sleep, welcoming the escape from the timeless, lonely prison he’s trapped in.

When Keith wakes up, his head is pounding. He groans, rubbing his eyes. His vision pulses with the pounding in his head, and he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, his ears flattening as he tries to puzzle out what is going on now. Headaches have not been a sign of any good since the bond, and Keith doubts that has changed now.

After forcing himself to take a calming breath, Keith opens his eyes, blinking against the dimness around him. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, but when he does he swirls around to check on Zarkon, only to be faced with an empty cot.

Keith’s heart stops beating. Time stills, then crashes into Keith with enough force to knock the breath out of him. His vision swims as he scrambles onto the cot, his fists clutching at the sheets as if they’re hiding Zarkon from him and all Keith needs to do to find him is to get rid of the sheets.

But Zarkon isn’t there, and Keith can’t breathe.

The pounding of Keith’s head grows to nearly unbearable levels, and he presses his face into the cot, the smell of Zarkon filling his senses, calming him enough for him to get a shaky grip of himself.

Sitting up, Keith forces air into his lungs, pressing his blunt claws into his palms to ground himself even as panic tries to take over him. The silence of the Lion is heavy around Keith, the air colder than it has ever been. Keith swallows, his eyes burning as he pulls his knees to his chest, his existence boiling down to one, pressing question.

_ Where is Zarkon? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long has it been since the last update? I don't even know anymore. Anyways, here's another chapter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lance stares at the Holts with wide eyes, and Shiro can’t blame him for it; he’s eyeing them in a similar manner.

“I think it’s the best option,” Sam repeats. “We need more help, and with Alfor’s insistence of hunting down everyone who opposes him, it’s only a matter of time before he turns to Earth.”

Lance throws his hands in the air. “But he has no reason to go there! Earth isn’t even a part of this war.”

“But you are,” Lotor points out. “If I were to force you to bend to my will, I would attack that which you hold most dear: in this case, your homeworld. It is quite a basic move.”

“But for some of us to go to Earth?” Shiro turns from the Holts to Lotor. “Wouldn’t that just broadcast its importance to Alfor?”

“Yes and no. He already knows it is important to you, and sending a small team there is not going to change that. How the Alteans react to us going there will depend on what kind of a team we send. Send a large shipful of people, and he will come after us. Send a few people and it will seem less important.”

Shiro nods slowly.

“We should go,” Sam says again. “Earth needs to be protected, and they could help.”

“I do not see how that could be,” Lotor says. “You barely have space flight capabilities.”

Matt frowns. “With a little tech from our allies, Earth could help. Just because we can’t hop from star system to star system in a matter of a few days or hours doesn’t mean we can’t do _something_.”

Lotor raises a doubtful eyebrow, but to Shiro’s relief he doesn’t start arguing with Matt.

“We don’t even need to do that much,” Pidge adds. “We just need to tell the Garrison what’s going on, give them some simple tech to adapt, and maybe help them code better systems.”

Matt nods. “And then, when Alfor comes for Earth, he’s going to be faced with a prepared opposition. And we could build a communications network, and supply lines.”

Shiro sees their point, but splitting up their group doesn’t feel right either. “If you go, you’ll have to pick a small team of volunteers, and a ship that we don’t have that much need for. And you’re going to clear everyone and everything you’re taking with you, and Pidge, you’ll have to stay — I’m sorry, but you’re a Paladin and you need to stay here.”

“No Galra or druid will go, on my orders,” Lotor says, earning himself displeased looks from everyone. “The humans have no experience with alien contact, and I will not allow my people to be the ones who they practice that skill on.”

Sam looks ready to argue, but Shiro shakes his head. “That’s fine. And Lotor has a point — anyone who goes should be aware that humanity has no experience with aliens; we can’t promise what will happen when they step on the planet.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees. He’s been quiet up until now, observing the discussion with a thoughtful look on his face. “Whoever goes to Earth needs to be ready for a less than warm welcome, but I don’t think they need to worry about dissection.”

“Because Shiro got such a nice, dissection free welcome when he came back to Earth,” Lance mutters.

“That was different,” Shiro cuts in. “I have alien tech attached to me and I wasn’t really in the most cooperative mood. They were worried I’d hurt myself or someone else, and they had to make sure I wasn’t carrying any space diseases or weapons or anything. So yes, anyone who goes to Earth will most likely go through a quarantine at least, even humans, but I’m pretty confident in saying it won’t be done out of malice and no one will be dissected.”

“I’ll make sure anyone who wants to come with us is aware of the risks,” Sam assures Shiro. “We’ll figure out the details and we can talk about this more after that.”

Shiro nods and stands, and Lotor follows his example. Lance returns to arguing with the Holts, and Hunk quietly promises to keep an eye on the situation. Shiro heads out of the conference room and into the hallway, rubbing the back of his head as soon as he’s alone.

“You worry too much,” Lotor says behind Shiro, catching him off guard.

Shiro turns, laughing quietly. “Yeah, I know. Do you think it’s a good idea? Sending people to Earth?”

Lotor stops beside Shiro, tilting his head minutely as he considers his answer. “It has its benefits, though I would advice caution; just because you want to protect your home does not necessarily mean it is the smartest course of action. You will show Alfor precisely where to strike if he wants to hurt you, and we will be down supplies, people, and a ship if they go.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shiro starts walking, and Lotor falls in step with him. “Anything else?”

“You should not make a decision on sentiment. Only send people to your planet if you think it will be beneficial to everyone, not just to your kind. You cannot endanger us to protect them.”

Shiro nods. He reaches the door to his room, and when he steps in Lotor follows him without asking if Shiro is okay with it. Not that Shiro would have denied him even if he had asked.

“What about the Galra?” Shiro asks as the door closes behind them. “Do you ever want to take a group to the Empire and focus on helping them?”

“You do realize I have already done that,” Lotor replies, not unkindly, and sits at the edge of the small table. “I merely use my own people and ships to do that.”

Shiro can only smile in response. He knows Lotor spends all of his free time he doesn’t have to spend sleeping helping the Galra any way he can, but Lotor likes being able to correct Shiro, and sometimes Shiro indulges him. It’s good for them all, as it keeps Lotor happy.

“Are we busy?” Lotor asks.

Shiro’s smile widens, his heart beating just a bit faster. “No.”

Lotor offers Shiro his hand, and Shiro takes it, letting Lotor pull him closer. Lotor takes Shiro’s other hand into his as well and presses a kiss on the knuckles of Shiro’s Galran hand. It’s tender enough for Shiro to lose his train of thought, and when Lotor pulls him closer, Shiro goes willingly, easily, and lets himself forget about the world outside his room.

* * *

Lotor sits through reports from Thace and Marzila, and a comm call from Acxa. She is returning to the base soon, and Lotor looks forward to having all of his generals in one place again; he’s not used to having to separate their group for such long periods of time, but he would rather do that than trust people he doesn’t know yet to find them allies in the remnants of the Empire.

After the call, he goes to see the druids as he had promised Kiira he would. Their laboratory is not nearly as spacious or efficient as the ones Lotor’s father had provided them with, but the druids make do without complaint, and Lotor tries his best not to be impressed with what they are able to accomplish with so little.

“What did you want me to see?” Lotor stops a few steps into the room, clasping his hands behind his back, adapting a more relaxed pose.

Kiira turns and waves him closer. “We have analyzed the Altean’s magic, and we think we may have discovered a way to adjust our own to match it.”

Lotor raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And that is going to help us how?”

“We can begin to learn how to shield against them.” Kiira tilts her head. “Of course, that would require an Altean who uses the kind of magic the one’s working for Alfor use to experiment with.”

Slowly, Lotor inclines his head. “You suggest we capture one.”

“It would be rather risky,” Kiira concedes. “And they might not be willing to assist us. It would be better to have a willing participant.”

“You are asking for a lot.”

Kiira inclines her head. Lotor takes a moment to consider the dilemma. “Could the Princess assist you?”

“No. Her magic is closer to a raw version of ours, while the Alteans’ is different to ours,” Kiira replies.

“How different?”

“Enough that we cannot simply mimic it, and they cannot mimic ours.”

Frowning, Lotor turns to study the other druids working on their projects. It is a problem, that is for sure, but Lotor is unsure of how to solve it. “If you can figure out how to get an Altean to cooperate, I will allow you to do your experiments.”

Kiira bows. “Thank you, my Lord.”

It gives Lotor a stop, but one he’s quick to hide. He is not used to be referred to with his father’s monikers, even though the druids and some of the Galra have started to do it with growing frequency. Lotor wishes they would stop; his father is coming back, and he will not appreciate the impression that Lotor is taking his place.

Lotor leaves the laboratory, considering the new information he has received.

* * *

Keith runs through the Lion, breath caught in his throat. Zarkon isn’t in the cot, so he has to be better.

The darkness of the Lion doesn’t bother Keith quite as much — or maybe it’s just easier for him to ignore the dread slowly creeping up his spine with his mind occupied. Keith runs straight into the cockpit, nearly falling on his face when he finds Zarkon sitting in the chair, staring ahead. Keith swallows, inching closer to Zarkon, hesitant of what is going on.

“Zarkon?”

He gets no response, not even a hint of acknowledgment. Keith bridges the distance between them until he stands by Zarkon’s side. He restrains himself from reaching out, crossing his arms to keep himself still as he studies Zarkon. He’s... Keith isn’t sure if Zarkon realizes where he is. His gaze is distant and his expression, blank in a way Keith has never seen, lacks the sharpness that’s usually there. Keith’s throat closes.

What if — no. Zarkon will be fine. He’s just... he just woke up. It’s just the shock of that.

Keith unfolds one arm, gently brushing his fingers against Zarkon’s arm. “Hey?” Zarkon doesn’t respond, but Keith refuses to let that stop him. He takes a step closer to Zarkon, touching his arm more intently. “Zarkon? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Keith steps into Zarkon’s field of vision, leaning down a little so that he can look Zarkon straight in the eye. He doesn’t hide the concern bubbling inside him. “ _Ashaya._ ” Keith brushes Zarkon’s cheek, his touch soft. He bites his lip, determination filling him, and pushes his mind against Zarkon’s. He doesn’t force it, but he’s insistent. After a while, something gives and the familiar sense of _Zarkon_ fills Keith’s mind.

Keith almost topples, a gasp escaping his lips at the familiarity of it. He grips the bond and refuses to let go — refuses to let Zarkon disappear from him again. He pushes all his love through the bond, only letting some of his concern and fear dribble through. He doesn’t want to make Zarkon worry when he’s so clearly not well yet.

After a moment, Keith kneels, presses his forehead against Zarkon’s knee and closes his eyes, and lets himself get lost in the bond. Zarkon’s mind remains disorganized — absent. There’s no thought or a clear emotion for Keith to latch onto, but he’s _there,_ and that’s all that matters.

Little by little, the pieces of Zarkon’s mind snap into place. Not all of them, but enough for his mind to regain a hint of the organization it usually has. But it’s something, and Keith sheds a tear or two from the pure relief it sends crashing through him.

The soft brush against Keith’s hair makes Keith start. His head snaps up, his eyes so wide it almost hurts. Zarkon isn’t looking at him, but his fingers are absently tangled in Keith’s hair, and as Keith lowers his head back down, pressing his cheek against Zarkon’s knee so that he can peer up at him while Zarkon pets Keith’s hair gently, absently, almost forgetting to do it several times. Keith sighs and settles in to enjoy the gentle touch.

Keith might have fallen asleep, he isn’t sure, but when he next grows fully aware of his surroundings, Zarkon’s touch on his hair has grown more intentional. Keith groans and looks up, relieved to find Zarkon gazing down at him, even if he seems to have a little trouble focusing on Keith.

“Hi,” Keith whispers. Zarkon almost smiles, and it’s enough to set Keith at ease. Though Keith would like to remain where he is, he stands with a sigh. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

Zarkon allows Keith to pull him to his feet and guide him back to the cot. Keith rest his head on Zarkon’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, faint but there this time. He closes his eyes and falls asleep to the sound of it.

* * *

When Keith wakes up, Zarkon is there, but he’s moved from lying down to leaning against the wall, his fingers playing with Keith’s hair absently. Keith stretches and sits up, smiling at Zarkon. “Morning. If it is morning...”

Zarkon tilts his head. Keith’s ears flick down. “We’re in the rift. In the Lion. I think she’s broken. We’re... we’re stuck.”

Zarkon frowns. Keith nudges the bond to get an idea of his mood, and lets Zarkon try to work through Keith’s words. Zarkon’s thoughts are sluggish, like he can’t quite focus on a thought. “How long?” He eventually asks, his voice raspy from the lack of use.

“I don’t know.”

Zarkon inclines his head slowly. Keith gives him the time he needs to figure out what he wants to say next.

“How broken is... she?” Zarkon frowns, trying the word out as if he can’t decide if he likes it or not.

“We have no power, so it’s hard to say,” Keith replies. “I’ve tired to figure out how to get it back on but I don’t really know how this thing works, so I haven’t had any luck.”

Zarkon’s eyes focus on Keith, his expression gaining some of the typical sharpness back. “How are you?”

Keith smiles. “I think I’m fine. I... I don’t know. I don’t feel any different? I know that doesn’t make sense with us being in the rift for... I don’t know how long before Black got us but it’s true. I feel fine.”

“I felt fine and most would argue that was not the case.” Zarkon frowns and pushes Keith’s hair from his face, scrutinizing him. “You do look normal.”

“Thanks.” Keith leans into Zarkon’s touch. “How are you?”

Zarkon considers it, rubbing his thumb along Keith’s cheek. “I... am unsure. I do not think I have been severely affected, but I cannot be sure.”

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” Keith promises, trying to sound reassuring. “And you’ll keep an eye on me.”

“And we can find a way to fix the Lion so that we can better return to our reality and destroy it?” Zarkon smiles, but it’s sharp and unpleasant. He drops it in second, sighing. “I apologize.”

Keith shifts. “Well, we’re worried about how we are, so maybe that’s a good sign? Maybe we’re not going rift crazy? Or if we are, at least we’ll be aware of it, right?”

Though Zarkon looks skeptical, he inclines his head. The bond shifts, but Keith is too busy enjoying the sense of it to pay attention to what Zarkon’s attention shifts to. “You left your... Shiro.”

Keith blinks, unsure of what Zarkon is talking for a moment. “He’s not my Shiro. He’s — I’d rather be with you. It wasn’t... I want to be here.” Keith smiles, sure with his words. “I want to be with you.”

For a moment, Zarkon only stares at Keith as if he can’t quite belief what he’s just heard. Keith rolls his eyes and bridges the little distance between them, and presses a kiss on the corner of Zarkon’s mouth. “Hey.” Keith waits until Zarkon meets his eyes. “I love you. I’m where I want to be — here, with you.”

It gets a smile out of Zarkon. “I am glad to have you here,” he admits quietly.

“You’re just glad to have me all to yourself.”

Zarkon tilts his head. “That is an added bonus, yes.”

Keith shakes his head, laughing. “You’re a possessive ass, you know that?”

“And yet you chose to be here,” Zarkon points out.

Keith shrugs. “I chose to be with _you._ Where we are is irrelevant; the only thing that matters is that we’re both here.”

A silence stretches between them as Zarkon regards Keith with a thoughtful look. Keith isn’t worried; the affection bleeding through the bond assures him Zarkon wants him there. Zarkon leans forward, and Keith meets him halfway through, melting into the kiss.

When Zarkon pulls away, Keith follows him, trying to recapture his lips again. But Zarkon merely smiles. “I will take a look at the Lion, and you are going to make an inventory of everything we have: food, water, equipment — everything.”

Keith nods. It’s good to have a clear idea of what he should do for a change.

It takes them a few minutes to get up, and another few to actually leave each others company. Keith tries not to let the emptiness the lack of Zarkon’s presence fills him with get to him, but it’s not easy. Sensing Keith’s discomfort, Zarkon drops his shields and allows Keith free access to the bond and Zarkon’s mind. It makes it easier for Keith to grab a pad and start taking stock of everything they have.

It takes hours (at least Keith thinks it takes hours), but eventually Keith has gone through everything not bolted down, and made a list of it. He finds Zarkon studying the matrix, his frown hard but his touch on the wires and panels light. “I’ve got the list.”

Zarkon hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t take his eyes off the mechanics of the Lion. Keith hangs back and waits for Zarkon to give him his attention. His patience is rewarded five minutes later, when Zarkon glances over his shoulder at Keith. “I fear the power issue is not as easy to solve as I had hoped it would be.”

“But you can fix it, right?”

Zarkon grits his teeth, his gaze tracking the mechanics surrounding them. “If the Lion allows it.” His voice is quiet, and the set of his shoulders tense.

“She will,” Keith says, sure of himself. “And if she starts acting up, I’ll have words with her,” he adds just to get a laugh out of Zarkon.

Zarkon walks out of the room, Keith at his heels. “What are we doing do now?”

“Now, I will take a moment to enjoy being in my Lion after ten thousand years before I decide where to start working on the power issue, and you are going to keep me company.” Zarkon offers Keith a smile over his shoulder, and takes the turn towards the cockpit.

Keith rolls his eyes, but follows Zarkon, and when Zarkon sits in the chair, Keith slumps at his feet and settles in, closing his eyes and sighing when Zarkon starts playing with his hair.

The silence between them is languid, and Keith lets time drift away from it.

“I do love you,” Zarkon says suddenly, almost hesitantly.

Keith opens his eyes and tilts his head back, smiling up at Zarkon. “I know. I love you too.” Keith has known for a long time, has felt it through the bond, seen it in the way Zarkon looks at him, in how he treats him. But it’s still nice to hear Zarkon say it.

Zarkon withdraws his hand and nudges Keith with his foot until Keith straightens up and turns to face him properly. “It has occurred to me that, as we are currently trapped, this would be a good time for us to mend our bond. If you want.”

“Of course I do,” Keith replies immediately, pushing himself off the floor. “What made you think I wouldn’t?”

Zarkon glances away. “I know you say you want to be here, but you have been rather keen on leaving my side recently. I did not want to assume.”

Keith frowns and crosses his arms, his ears flattening when Zarkon refuses to let him peek through his shielding. “I know what I want. I might have needed some distance to figure it out, but I do know what I want. And... I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Zarkon shakes his head. “It is of no consequence. You are here now.”

“What’s wrong?” Keith glares at Zarkon when he pulls his shields further up. “We’re trapped in a nonfunctional Lion in the rift so you might as well tell me.”

Zarkon’s ears twitch down. “I merely — I...” Zarkon sighs, setting his shoulders. “I do not enjoy that I have forced you into this situation.”

“What?”

Zarkon turn to Keith, a hollow smile on his lips. “I did not allow Haggar to break our bond when she could have done it, for start.”

“I don’t care,” Keith snaps before Zarkon can continue. “I don’t care that you manipulated me or that you held me prisoner and psychologically tortured me for months — okay I care a little, but not so much that I don’t think we can work past it. The point is, how we ended up here isn’t as important to me as the fact that we’re actually here.”

Zarkon studies Keith, then sighs and stands. “I need rest. I am... tired. Wake me up if the Lion does anything it should not be doing.”

Keith almost argues, but Zarkon assures Keith, through the bond, that he is not brushing off Keith’s words and that he appreciates Keith’s sentiment. Keith smiles, and watches Zarkon go before sitting down and allowing his thoughts to wander, the soft hum of the bond in the back of his mind keeping him relaxed as time passes around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a mildly important note, I've re-edited everything from chapter 10 of Lost&Found to the previous chapter of this fic and I fixed a few mistakes/added a bit to chapter 4 because I didn't have anything getter to do (I did, I could've done uni work. I was procrastinating). Posting this is my birthday gift to myself so that I can cross this off from my to-do list and justify spending tomorrow watching movies and not feel bad about it.

It takes a full week for Sam and Matt to be ready to properly brief the Rebellion crew on their plan to go to Earth, and to start picking volunteers to go with them. They settle on a five person crew, but deciding who should actually go takes longer, and Sam apologizes for it. Shiro tells him to take his time and select his crew well. They’ll only get one shot at this, and everything needs to go well, and not just because they need the help, but because humanity is about to learn they aren’t alone in the universe.

“This might lead to trouble,” Lotor says again, his voice quiet enough to be missed by the people walking past them.

Shiro nods and takes the left turn towards the communications room. “We still need the help.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Weren’t you the one who said this is a good idea?”

Lotor’s lips thin for a fraction of a second. “It is a necessary action, not an ideal one. I can point out the issues with it without thinking it should not be done.”

Shiro doesn’t argue; it’s not worth the headache it would cause him. Instead he nods once and continues on his way, not surprised that Lotor follows him. What does surprise Shiro is Lotor grabbing Shiro’s elbow outside of the communications room, stopping him before he can step through the door.

“We should also look into having other bases for ourselves. Preferably in space. There are some abandoned Galra stations we could use,” Lotor starts, drawing a sigh from Shiro. It’s an old debate between them, and every once in a while Lotor brings it up again.

“We’re safe here and we have everything we need here,” Shiro reminds him. “Name one good reason why we’d be better off in an abandoned space station that Alfor could easily find than on a planet with water and greenery and shelter and... stuff.”

“Orbital bombardment,” Lotor states, and Shiro shuts up. It doesn’t stop Lotor from continuing, “I understand you come from a species that is barely capable of space travel, so the idea is foreign to you, but it is a real threat and we need to consider our options. And a space station is not necessarily easy to find. You are aware of the size of the galaxy, yes?”

“They don’t even know where we are,” Shiro points out.

“Yet. But when they find us — and they will — we are as good as dead. We don’t even have orbital defenses. We need another base, to divide our forces, and we need a plan for a quick evacuation for when that becomes necessary.”

“You’re awfully sure that Alfor would bomb us to hell and back the moment he finds out about this place.” Shiro crosses his arms, raising a pointed eyebrow.

“It is what I would do,” Lotor replies without missing a beat. “It is the most effective way of getting rid of enemies, and Alfor has no reason to not use every weapon at his disposal to destroy us.”

“Except we have the Yellow Lion, and if Alfor bombs us he’ll bomb the Lion and risk destroying it. I’m pretty sure we’re safe from immediate destruction.”

“That might not stop him. Don’t the Lions have rather impressive shielding systems? And the Castleship can detect the Lions from orbit, so he could simply not bomb that precise location while destroying everything else.” Lotor mirrors Shiro and crosses his own arms, his expression remaining annoyingly polite, like Shiro is a rivaling politician Lotor needs to beat and not a... whatever they are.

“Yes, but still. Alfor might not want to risk damaging the Lion even by accident,” Shiro argues, hating how weak his position is growing.

“A ‘might not’ is a poor thing to hang all our lives on,” Lotor says, not unkindly.

Shiro sighs and rubs his eyes. It’s an argument he can’t win, and he’s almost certain Lotor has already started looking into viable secondary bases anyways. Shiro doesn’t kid himself into thinking Lotor is genuinely asking his permission for this — he’s just ensuring Shiro’s agreement for when they’ll inevitably have to tell the others about it. “Fine. If finding a second base for us in space makes you feel better, then do it.”

Lotor smiles and, after looking up and down the corridor to make sure they’re alone, steps into Shiro’s personal space and leans in to nip his jaw gently. “I knew you’d see reason eventually.”

Shiro laughs. “You’re kind of an ass sometimes, you know?”

“I believe it is genetic,” Lotor replies, a smile playing on his lips. “It cannot be helped.”

Shiro shakes his head, unable to stop the affectionate smile spreading on his lips. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

Lotor makes a point of looking smug as he turns and starts down the hallway. “Speak for yourself.”

Shiro chuckles and shakes his head, only entering the communications room when Lotor is out of his sight.

* * *

Lotor orders his generals to find them another place to stay — preferably more than one so that they can spread out and risk their operations being destroyed the moment Alfor finds them. After that is done, he turns his attention to the request Kiira had left at his desk. The druids need specific equipment from a base the Alteans had recently taken, and Lotor is pleased to see Kiira and her colleagues had clearly thought through the pros and cons of going there. It is a habit they had developed rather quickly since these excursions to druid bases — occupied by enemy forces or not — were commonplace. Not that it surprised Lotor; the druids had not had much with them when they had arrived, and they do need their equipment to work as efficiently as possible.

Still, Lotor sits at his desk and frowns at the pad, considering the necessity of the raid. It would be risky, yes, but according to Kiira the equipment — a prototype recently developed on this specific station — is vital if they want to strengthen their ships’ shielding to defend against the Alteans. In the end, Lotor decides it is worth the risk; they need to be able to defend against the Alteans, after all.

It is not hard for Lotor to decide to send Marzila on the mission, as she has proven herself to be more than capable of handling high risk missions. He summons her to his room, not wanting to risk interrupting the Paladins and the Rebellion personnel while they prepare for their journey to Earth.

Marzila, when she arrives, is respectful and perfectly professional. It is one of the reasons Lotor does not mind working with her. The other is that she had assessed Lotor worthy of her respect because of his skills, not simply because of his lineage, and Lotor appreciates it.

“I want you to select a team and take care of this,” Lotor tells her, handing her the pad with the mission critical information. “I will try to see if you can go on this one without the Rebels, but I cannot make a promise on that.”

Their idea of mixing teams as much as possible to build camaraderie and make it easier for different people to work together is, in Lotor’s opinion, only good when utilized on specific missions, but lately the Rebels have grown more insistent on having their people tag along on missions to Galra space and facilities. Lotor is still working on putting a stop to it, but it is taking longer than he would like, and neither Shiro nor Kolivan has been much help with it. For now, Lotor goes along with it, but only because it is in his and the Galra’s best interest to maintain good relations with the others.

Marzila takes the pad, studies it for a moment, and inclines her head. “I can do that. Do you require this done by a specific date?”

“No, but the sooner you can take care of it the better. I trust I do not need to tell you to not rush things.” Lotor raises an eyebrow, pleased to see the half a tick long flash of offense flash behind Marzila’s eyes.

“Of course not,” she replies.

Lotor inclines his head. “Inform me when you are ready to go.”

Marzila bows and leaves the room, leaving Lotor to go through the rest of his reports to keep himself from having the time to think about less pleasant things.

Halfway through reading his fourth report, Lotor frowns and calls Acxa.

“Yes?” She sounds confused to hear from Lotor so soon.

“While you are out there, check on the Central Command. The reports say that area has fallen silent and I want to know why,” Lotor tells her.

“Understood,” Acxa replies and waits for Lotor to disconnect the comm.

After the screen goes dark, Lotor leans back in his chair, frowning. He had considered seizing the Central Command for himself, but in the end it had not been a viable plan, not with the lack of manpower he had at his disposal. The Central Command had fallen to chaos when the Empire had fractured, all factions vying to get it for themselves while the remaining personnel there tried to keep the place running. As far as Lotor knows, a warlord had recently claimed the Central Command, ejecting most of the personnel and the other occupying forces out.

Lotor had expected more traffic going in and out of there after the Central Command had regained some sense of stability, not less. It makes no sense, and in that moment, Lotor needs things to make sense.

* * *

Keith trails after Zarkon, his hands in his pockets, occasionally humming to fill the silence. He had found a set of his clothes in the back of the Lion, and he’d ditched his armor in favor of wearing the new set of clothes. Zarkon had eyed his choice of outfit, but he hadn’t said anything about it. Keith, however, likes his clothes; he likes having an actual shirt and pants on instead of the armor, even if they’re of the more basic variety, and not the elaborate kind of clothes Zarkon likes to see him in. Keith is still wearing his jacket, but that’s because he likes the amount of pockets it has, and this way he can carry his flashlight and anything Zarkon might hand him without getting his hands full.

Occasionally Zarkon stops, taking readings of a specific panel or console with the scanner he had dug up from somewhere and spent two days tinkering with, never letting Keith so much as brush a finger against it no matter how safe it would have been with Keith’s blunted claws.

“What are we looking for?” Keith asks half an hour into their journey through the Lion.

“I will tell you when I find it,” Zarkon replies, frowning at the scanner.

“Can I help?”

“No.”

Keith frowns and pokes Zarkon through the bond. For the first time since he had picked the scanner up that morning, Zarkon turned to Keith. “There is nothing for you to do. If you are bored, you can find cords for the reserve batteries in the cargo hold, and try to figure out how to charge them.”

“That sounds like it’d be something important,” Keith points out.

“It is, but it is not relevant at the moment. Not until we have a way to utilize the batteries.” Zarkon turns back to his scanner and continues walking.

Keith hurries after him. “But if we had charged batteries, couldn’t we use them to charge the Lion? We could use the power and get going.”

“I do not believe the issue is as simple as power loss.” Keith waits a beat, but when Zarkon doesn’t continue, he nudges him through the bond again. Zarkon nudges him back, but stops and turns to Keith again. “If the problem was simply a power loss, the Lion would have recovered from it already. The issue is something else, thus the charged batteries would be useless for us at the moment, and we would risk draining the batteries for no reason. As soon as I find the real issue and fix it, we can use the batteries to cut the power recharge time down.”

Keith sighs, but nods. “I’ll trail after you for now, then. I can try to figure out how to charge the batteries while we walk. Just... tell me what you’re doing?”

“Alright,” Zarkon agrees.

“So what are we looking for?”

“I am compiling a scan of the Lion so that I can find any discrepancies. If I do not find anything with the scanner, we will have to send mild energy pulses through the systems and see where the issue is.” Zarkon frowns. “Doing that will pose its own challenges.”

“I can help with that,” Keith says. “Probably. I’m pretty good at hotwiring stuff so if I figure the batteries out I might be able to use them to create the pulse.”

Zarkon doesn’t frown, but the bond betrays the flash of annoyance he tries to hide. Keith laughs. “I know, I’m butting in on your bonding time with Black and I’m sorry, but I really need to do something. I’ll make sure Black knows you’re the one who actually fixed her.”

Zarkon narrows his eyes at Keith before focusing pointedly on his scanner. “I am not ‘bonding’ with the Lion, I am trying to get us out of the rift as soon as possible, and I do not enjoy the thought of having to do everything the hard way to accomplish that.”

“So... you’re trying to be optimistic?” Keith grins. “Now we know for sure the rift messed with you.”

It gets Zarkon to stop and turn to Keith, frustrated and annoyed, and not trying to hide it. Keith’s grin only widens. “Sorry,” he says, not meaning it one bit.

“Your ability to be irritating is truly something to marvel at. Perhaps, once we get out of here, Haggar should study it,” Zarkon counters, making Keith laugh. While Zarkon continues to frown at Keith, the bond betrays his amusement. “May we continue now?”

“Yeah.” Keith inclines his head for good measure, and he returns to following Zarkon around, feeling less jittery for the remainder of their slow journey through the Lion, mentally compiling a preliminary list of ways to power the batteries to give Zarkon the silence he wants to better focus on the scanner.

* * *

Hours later Zarkon calls it a day and leads Keith to the cockpit. Much to Keith’s amusement, Zarkon likes spending time there, and since Keith doesn’t mind it either, they tend to spend a lot of their free time there. Keith slumps on the floor and leans against the controls, the dimness of the cockpit unnatural but not uncomfortable with Zarkon there. Zarkon fiddles with the controls for a minute before giving up and slumping back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. Keith doesn’t ask; he already knows Zarkon is trying to figure out how to fix the Lion. It’s all he’s done for... Keith doesn’t know how long. A few days? A week? How long have they been there?

It would have gone faster if Zarkon would let Keith help, but beyond allowing Keith do a few menial tasks and inventory, Zarkon has taken on fixing the Lion himself.

“I think we should just tell each other what we need from one another and go from there,” Keith says to break the silence. “Because the last few months have been hell and I think we need to just  _ tell _ each other what we’re thinking and what we need, not just assume the other one knows it because we’re telepathically linked. I think we’d benefit from better communication, especially when we start disagreeing.”

Zarkon inclines his head, but he doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes. They remain silent for a long moment, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break the silence.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Zarkon asks, not unkindly.

“Because I’m bored and we need to talk about this at some point?” Keith shrugs. “And I can use it as a bridge to another point: I’ve figured out all the ways I can try to get the batteries powered when we need them so I have nothing else to do anymore. So let me help you with the Lion.”

“I have it under control,” Zarkon assures him.

“I know you do, but I’m gonna go mental if you make me sit around doing nothing. I need to do  _ something,  _ okay? I get that you want to hog the Lion all to yourself, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d take me into consideration as well.” Keith levels Zarkon with a pointed look. “So how about it?”

Zarkon scowls, but after a moment he inclines his head, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. I will find you something to do.”

“Thanks.” Keith sighs and closes his eyes. He can feel Zarkon’s eyes on him, but Keith doesn’t have the energy to ask what’s going on in Zarkon’s head. He does give the bond a gentle nudge, enjoying the warmth seeping through him in response.

“You should go rest,” Zarkon says after a while. Keith hums in agreement, but doesn’t move. Zarkon sighs and takes Keith’s arm, and Keith opens his eyes when Zarkon pulls Keith to his feet and into his lap without a word. Keith smiles and settles on Zarkon’s arms, closing his eyes again and enjoying the warmth of the bond and the familiar feeling of Zarkon’s arms around him.

“Do you think we’ll get out of here?” Keith asks quietly, trying to keep worry from keeping into his voice. “I mean really?”

“Of course,” Zarkon replies, comfortingly sure. “We just need to find the source for the lack of power, fix it, and then we will be on our way.”

Keith huffs. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy.” Zarkon shifts Keith so that he can look him in the eye. “We will go through the rest of the Lion later, and if need be, send the energy pulses through the systems, and find the problem. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life stuck here.”

“Not to question your skills or anything, but are you sure you know how to fix the Lion?” Keith asks, hating that he feels like he has to.

Zarkon studies Keith for a moment, then sighs and nudges him off his lap. Keith quirks an eyebrow out of curiosity when Zarkon stands and guides Keith to the back of the cockpit, kneeling on the floor and pulling Keith along with him. Keith frowns, wondering what Zarkon is up to now.

After a few seconds Zarkon glances at Keith, smiling. “Do you still have the... what did you call it? Screwdriver?”

Keith nods and pulls the screwdriver (it was a tool that worked on the bolts of the Lion, so all the humans had called it a screwdriver) from his pocket. He hands it to Zarkon, and settles better by his side while Zarkon starts removing the panel near the floor.

“What are you doing?” Keith can’t help but ask.

“I am checking something.”

“What?”

Zarkon reaches back behind the panel. “There is an empty space here that I discovered. With a little help from Blaytz — do not tell him that.”

“I won’t,” Keith promises, stifling a laugh at the serious glare Zarkon throws at him. “So why do you know there’s an empty space there and why does it matter.”

Instead of responding, Zarkon pulls the wall panel off and reaches into the hole he’s created, and — to Keith’s surprise — pulls out a metal box. Zarkon sits back on his heels, a pleased smirk grazing his lips. “The good thing about Alfor is that unless he has discovered something himself or he is made aware of a thing’s existence, he will not believe it is there. And I know this Lion better than anyone, even him, no matter how much he claims to be more familiar with the Lions simply because he built them.”

Keith tilts his head, smiling. “So you found a convenient empty space and... hid a box from Alfor?”

“Yes.” Zarkon starts to carefully pry the lid off the box, and Keith sits up despite himself, excited to see what Zarkon had hidden in the box.

Once the lid comes off, Zarkon tilts the box so that Keith can look inside, the bond humming with Zarkon’s amusement at Keith’s excitement. Keith doesn’t care; he leans in, then picks the ancient datapad up, leaving the small box underneath it be for now.

“Why did you hide this?” Keith asks, resisting the urge to pout when he can’t turn the pad on; of course he can’t, it’s been there for ten thousand years.

Zarkon shrugs. “Blackmail.”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up, and Zarkon picks the small box up and opens it, showing Keith the several, old data drives inside it.

“Why?” Keith can’t help but ask. “And who were you going to blackmail?”

“If you can get it working, you can look for yourself. Anything in that is over ten thousand years old so I believe it is safe to say it does not contain any state secrets you should not see,” Zarkon replies.

Keith grins, wondering what he might find when he figures out how to turn the pad on.

“I  _ can _ get the Lion working,” Zarkon says, his serious tone drawing Keith’s attention. “I know everything there is to know about it — her — and I can fix the problem, whatever it may be. Just be patient.”

Keith swallows and nods, some of the anxiety that had tried to grip his insides dissipating at Zarkon’s certainty.

* * *

Alfor dislikes the sense of the human lingering in the Red Lion. No, dislike is not right. He despises it. Hates it, even. It doesn’t belong there, in his space. The Lion had been sluggish, harder to control from the first day they had reunited, so Alfor had not piloted the Lion, not wanting anyone else to see his connection to it is not as strong as it should be. So he focuses on fixing that.

And it works, in a way. With the pure quintessence, Alfor has an easier time forcing his will on the Lion. But that’s about all he can do with the quintessence, as he has no way to utilize it in a way he had hoped. Their equipment had malfunctioned in an unexpected way when they had tried, unable to handle the strain the pure, raw quintessence had put on them. It had been a severe setback, and Alfor does not know how to remedy it. They had been so sure their equipment could handle the strain.

The only thing they had managed to do was utilize the quintessence in a limited capability to boost his and Trigel’s connections to their Lions. As soon as they find the Yellow Lion, they can do the same with Gyrgan. But the equipment... Alfor does not know what to do about that. He has the quintessence he needs, allowing him to test his theory even without Keith if he can just figure out what kind of equipment he needs to utilize the quintessence.

The kind of equipment Zarkon’s druids use. How had they figured out how to store and use quintessence while Alfor cannot do it?

Unable to bring his focus fully back to the Red Lion, Alfor leaves the cockpit and strides through his ship, puzzling over the issue. They had tried to take the proper equipment from the druids, but even that equipment had malfunctioned from the rift quintessence. The Lions can handle it, but Alfor cannot replicate the precise way they were built — not without the precise materials he had at his disposal back then, at least.

Alfor stops, frowning at the floor. The druids must know how to handle the quintessence; why else would they have harvested it? Alfor needs answers. He needs to know what the trick the druids use is.

So Alfor calls Trigel over the comms, and continues his journey to the bridge. “I need you to bring Honerva in.”

Trigel takes a moment longer than she should to answer. “That may be difficult.”

“I trust you to make it happen,” Alfor says before disconnecting the comm line. He needs to know how the druids were going to use the quintessence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I can update this again since I need to do uni, figure out how to pay for my dog's MRI and a new laptop, and finish a commission (art, not writing, which is nice because now I have an excuse to listen to audiobooks), so I'm... busy. Really really busy. So I'll be mostly on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Saremina__) for now, and as soon as I know more about the situation and when I have time to update this again, I'll post an update there.
> 
> I hope you liked this!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things you should know going into this chapter. One, I only edited this once like a month ago and I don't have the brain capacity to do another round of edits, so this is probably a mess. Two... I'm gonna be maiming and killing characters off from here on out. You've been warned.

It takes a while (days or weeks, Keith can’t tell with the way time behaves in the rift), but eventually — while Zarkon finished the scans on the Lion — Keith manages to figure out how he might be able to power up the pad Zarkon had given him. Unfortunately, powering the pad up requires powering the Lion up, as Keith needs the Lion to act as a charger, unless he uses the batteries in the cargo, which he can’t charge up.

He’ll keep that as an option two, while hoping to come up with an option one.

Instead of spending more time lying in the cot and staring at the darkened pad, Keith pushes himself up with a sigh. He leaves Zarkon’s cape on the cot, having used it as a blanket while Zarkon got started on the repairs on the Lion. He also leaves Zarkon’s crown there too, having stolen it from Zarkon some time ago, not that Zarkon had complained — he has no Empire to run in the rift, so he doesn’t really _need_ the crown, but he often wears it out of habit. Keith had listened to Zarkon’s explanation on where the problems are and what he’ll need to do, and though he wants to see what Zarkon does to the Lion, he had needed to sleep, even if it was just for a few hours.

Now Keith tugs at the bond, and follows it to Zarkon. He finds Zarkon deep in the Lion, near the matrix, half of the wall paneling scattered on the floor next to him along with several tools, wires and the top of Zarkon’s armor. Keith stops, quirking an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Zarkon, while aware of Keith’s presence, ignores him in favor of focusing on examining the insides of the Lion, his sleeves rolled up, a determined look on his face.

“I could get used to this,” Keith muses as he crosses his arms and leans on the wall.

“I need you to keep your hormones in check for a while longer,” Zarkon replies.

Keith laughs. “No promises. So what’s wrong with her?”

“The systems have overloaded. The damage is wider than I would prefer, but it is not impossible to fix. But it does require me to be able to focus.” Zarkon levels Keith with a pointed look.

For a moment, Keith considers talking, but in the end he falls silent and settles for watching Zarkon work, admiring the single-minded focus with which Zarkon tackles the impossible task of fixing the Lion without proper tools, and the way the under-armor suit shows his muscles moving. Keith would offer to help, but he already knows Zarkon would turn him down, and he prefers to watch him anyways. At least for now.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole time?” Zarkon asks after a while.

Keith hums, pretending to consider it. “Probably.” Zarkon stops his work for long enough to throw an unimpressed look at Keith, who shrugs in response. “What? There’s not a lot to do here and I like the view.”

Zarkon chuckles softly even as he focuses on his work again. Keith smiles, but doesn’t move. He takes a moment to appreciate Zarkon before giving a part of his attention to what he’s actually doing, curious about the workings of the Lion. If he’s stuck there, he might as well learn something, right?

Eventually Keith pushes himself off the wall and joins Zarkon’s side on the floor to better see what Zarkon is doing. Zarkon shifts, making room for Keith, but doesn’t acknowledge him beyond that. Keith doesn’t take it personally; Zarkon is too focused on what he’s doing to give his attention to Keith.

A comfortable silence falls over them, and Keith has no interest in disturbing it, not even by gauging Zarkon’s thoughts through the bond.

It takes Zarkon another hour to put the panel back in its place, gather his things, and stand up. He starts picking up his armor, and Keith hurries to pull the bond, making it clear he’d prefer it if Zarkon didn’t. Zarkon stops, turning to Keith, exasperated, and Keith pokes the bond again. And frowns before a grin breaks on his face.

“Are you getting flustered?”

“No.” Zarkon narrows his eyes for good measure. “I am an emperor, I do not get flustered. You are being ridiculous.”

“You are. You’re getting flustered.” Keith tilts his head. “It’s kinda cute.”

For a moment, Zarkon looks like he’s genuinely considering the benefits of murdering Keith, but ultimately decides against it. “No.”

Keith stands, still grinning. “Yes.”

Zarkon narrows his eyes, but Keith refuses to back down; he can’t, not when he’s witnessing something so unexpected and amusing. After a moment, Zarkon shifts, his discomfort becoming more clear.

Keith’s grin falters. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... can I ask why you are so uncomfortable? I mean, after ten thousand years of being the Emperor of the biggest empire in the known universe I’d imagine you’d be used to people staring at you.”

“I am used to the staring,” Zarkon replies, turning his pad on and scowling at it. “Just... not in the way you are doing it.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, waiting for Zarkon to continue, but he remains pointedly focused on his pad without actually doing anything with it. “So it makes you uncomfortable?”

For a moment, Keith thinks Zarkon isn’t going to respond, but then he sighs and lets the pad droop, though he doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes. “I am not sure how to respond to it, and I do not enjoy being in situations where I am not sure of how to act or what to do.”

“I can stop, if you want,” Keith says. To his surprise, Zarkon shakes his head.

“It is alright.”

“You sure?”

Zarkon inclines his head. “I will adapt.”

Keith’s brow furrows as he considers his next words. “Well... you could just ignore me. And tell me if you want me to stop. I can always just admire you from afar.”

It gets a smile out of Zarkon, which Keith considers a win. “Alright. Now, I will require your assistance in carrying everything.”

Keith nods, smiling again, and hurries to help Zarkon. Unsurprisingly, Zarkon insists on taking the damaged wiring and parts to the small storage space along with the tools, and the armor to the living area. Afterwards, Keith follows Zarkon to the cockpit, lounging on the floor while Zarkon sits down on the chair, his hands briefly brushing against the controls as he goes.

The Lion is still unresponsive and dark, and while it bothers Keith (not only because they are trapped in the rift, but because the dark and silence makes him uncomfortable), it seems to almost hurt Zarkon who spends most of his time focused on the Lion. Keith doesn’t have the energy to get jealous about it, though he does occasionally wish Zarkon gave some of his attention to him as well.

“You know what?” Keith starts, waiting until Zarkon looks over to him. “I’m bored and I have too much energy.”

“You can always run through the Lion until you tire yourself out,” Zarkon suggests.

Keith snorts and pushes himself off the floor, wandering around the cockpit. Eventually his feet take him to the front of the cockpit, and he settles for leaning against the controls, lazily crossing his arms as he watches Zarkon whose attention is on his pad. Keith thinks he’s going over the readings from the Lion, but he can’t be sure. After a while, Zarkon shifts, his eyes flickering to Keith so briefly Keith almost misses it.

Almost.

Keith smiles. “Really?”

“Shut up.”

Keith laughs, shaking his head. He should let Zarkon be, but instead Keith pushes himself off the panel and walks up to Zarkon, waiting for him to look up. It takes a few seconds, but Zarkon looks up eventually, minutely quirking an eyebrow at Keith’s smile. Keith takes the pad from him without a word, and carefully places it on the floor. Zarkon allows it, his curiosity seeping through the bond, but Keith only smiles at him, happy that Zarkon doesn’t try to poke at Keith’s thoughts through the bond.

Keith climbs on Zarkon’s lap, biting his lip, his tail wrapping around Zarkon’s leg. Zarkon’s hands fall on Keith’s hips easily and Keith relaxes, and wraps his arms around Zarkon’s neck.

“I missed you,” Keith says, earning himself a confused frown from Zarkon. “When we were apart. I really did miss you. Even after the whole thing with Zykov. I missed you even before I was off the planet but I just didn’t know how to come back or how to apologize for getting so mad.”

Zarkon tilts his head minutely. “It is alright.”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I mean, yeah, you were an ass and I needed space, but I should’ve just said so and not... I was an ass too.” Keith’s ears tilt down as he grimaces at the memory of his behavior. “And I’m sorry about the whole... having sex with Shiro thing. That was petty and spiteful and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“True, but I forgive you,” Zarkon agrees, and Keith snorts; the hint of a smile playing on Zarkon’s lips makes his words kinder, easing Keith’s mind.

Keith nuzzles Zarkon’s cheek, then presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Zarkon tilts his head, capturing Keith’s lips in a gentle kiss as he starts pulling away. Keith melts into the kiss, deepening it, pulling Zarkon closer. And Zarkon lets him, holding Keith a little tighter in return, running his claws up Keith’s thighs, his spine, all the way to his hair so that he can tangle his fingers in it and angle Keith’s head better. Keith moans, pushing his need for more through the bond so that he doesn’t have to pull away to ask for it with his words.

Zarkon bites Keith’s lip, then pulls back just enough to look at Keith for long few seconds before pulling Keith’s head back and nipping his way down Keith’s jaw to his neck. Keith sighs, letting Zarkon take control. Zarkon bites the tip of Keith’s ear, distracting Keith enough for him to not realize Zarkon has undone his jacket until he’s pushing it off Keith’s shoulders. Keith hurries to throw the jacket off, sighing when Zarkon licks the now faint scars of the bite mark on Keith’s neck. Keith closes his eyes, running his hands down Zarkon’s chest, anticipation swelling inside him.

His patience is rewarded when Zarkon bites the mark hard enough to break skin. Keith cries out, bucking under Zarkon’s hold. When Zarkon lets go of Keith’s neck, Keith pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor along with his jacket.

“A bed might be more comfortable,” Zarkon points out before Keith can kiss him again.

“But this is more fun,” Keith counters, tugging at Zarkon’s clothes. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

Zarkon quirks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t stop Keith when he leans in and kisses him. Keith doesn’t let Zarkon take things slow; he sighs and moans into the kiss, canting his hips, encouraging Zarkon to let him set the pace as Keith does quick work of ridding them of their clothes. Keith swallows the breathy laugh Zarkon lets out at Keith’s enthusiasm, grinning, then moving to gently bite the spot below Zarkon’s ear just because he can. He drags his claws down Zarkon’s sides, blunted as they may be, and relishes the soft sigh it draws from Zarkon.

Zarkon adjusts Keith on his lap, his claws digging into Keith’s hips, and Keith’s breath catches in his throat, his tail tightening around Zarkon’s leg. He wants this. After all they have been through, all the fighting, disagreements, the time apart and nearly losing each other and everything that has happened, Keith _needs_ this. He needs the reassurance that Zarkon is _there_ with him, and that they’re not going to be pulled apart again.

“Hold on,” Keith gasps, scrambles off Zarkon’s lap, and hurries to the back of the cockpit, barely registering Zarkon’s annoyed scowl. Keith pulls out the small medkit out, holding his breath until he spots the small bottle under all the other things Lance and Coran had added to the medkits in the Lions.

Keith hurries back to Zarkon, kicking his underwear off before climbing on Zarkon’s lap again.

“Did you plan for this?” Zarkon asks, almost joking.

Keith snorts and shakes his head even as he urges Zarkon to get rid of the remainder of his armor. “We didn’t know if we’d be stuck in space at some point so we packed the Lions in preparation for everything.”

“That was surprisingly smart of you,” Zarkon says. Rather than take offense, Keith laughs and kisses Zarkon, and haphazardly works the bottle open between their bodies.

For once Keith is grateful for his blunted claws, as it makes it a lot easier for him to prepare himself. Zarkon runs his claws up Keith’s spine, soothing, while his other hand brushes against Keith’s erection as he grips Keith’s hip. Keith’s breath catches in his throat, throwing a dirty look at Zarkon, knowing he’s teasing on purpose.

Zarkon keeps teasing Keith with soft touches and by holding Keith still when he tries to move, never giving Keith what he wants, pushing Keith closer to the edge. Keith knows he shouldn’t hurry, but he decides he’s ready enough, assuring Zarkon of it through the bond when he grows concerned.

“Trust me,” Keith says for good measure as he shifts and aligns himself with Zarkon’s cock.

Zarkon helps Keith keep his balance, his grip on Keith’s hips grounding as Keith takes him in, slowing Keith down when he tries to go too fast. Keith curses under his breath; he’d almost forgotten how good it feels to have Zarkon fill him up, the memory of it not living up to the reality, his imagination unable to replicate the way Zarkon pushes his mind against Keith’s, sharing the sensation.

It takes a moment longer than usual for Keith to get used to the stretch, and Zarkon drags his claws slowly against his thighs in soothing motions the whole time.

Soon Keith nods — more to himself than to Zarkon —, steadies himself, and starts moving. Zarkon’s claws dig into the flesh of Keith’s thighs, a low growl escaping his throat as he surges forward and sinks his teeth into Keith’s shoulder, not quite breaking the skin — yet. Keith moans and throws his head back, his movements growing faster, more purposeful as he chases his orgasm. He needs the release; they can always take things slow later.

Keith wraps his hand around his erection, his breath hitching. He’s not going to last, not with the heat pooling in his stomach so fast, not with Zarkon meeting Keith’s thrusts, driving Keith closer to the edge, encouraging him to tip over through the bond.

So Keith lets go, his orgasm hitting him hard. His vision blurs with stars and he cries out, clinging to Zarkon to keep himself grounded. He slumps in Zarkon’s arms, trying to catch his breath, the smile playing on his lips transforming into a grin when Zarkon cums inside him. Keith purrs, unable to stop himself — not that he would if he could.

Zarkon holds Keith tighter, nuzzling his cheek and neck, pressing kisses to Keith’s skin every now and again.

“We should clean up,” Zarkon says, but he doesn’t stop running his claws up and down Keith’s spine or make any move to get up. Keith hums in agreement and closes his eyes. He’ll get up in a moment.

* * *

Trigel brings Honerva to the Castleship a week after Alfor had requested it. They had found containing her almost harder than capturing her had been, but they had solved the problem with a lot of drugs and restraints. It has left Honerva rather unresponsive, however, which makes questioning her difficult.

“We could put her in a cell,” Gyrgan says. “She can’t get out of it.”

“I’m not risking it,” Alfor replies. The power Honerva has is... disconcerting and worrying. She shouldn’t be so powerful — not more powerful than Alfor, of course, but her power is different. Unnatural. But as long as they can contain that, Alfor can utilize her intelligence and her out of the box thinking.

If they can make her coherent enough to think, of course. And Honerva thinking is dangerous, so that raises a whole new set of problems. But Alfor is nothing if not a problem solver, and in the end he settles for keeping Honerva drugged (but not too drugged) and strapping her down to an operating table. It should keep her under control.

Trigel ensures that Honerva is secured before Alfor enters the room they had put her in. They had cleared it of everything but the medical table they had moved in and bolted to the floor for good measure.

Honerva, groggy from the tranquilizers, still has it in her to glare at Alfor when he enters the room. Alfor ignores the look, secure in the knowledge that glaring is about all she’s capable of in that moment. “How are you?”

The minute twitch of her jaw is the only sign of Honerva even hearing Alfor’s words. In return, Alfor doesn’t react to Honerva’s disrespect. “I have some questions I hope you can answer,” Alfor says instead, moving further into the room, closer to Honerva — but not too close.

“No,” Honerva says, turns from Alfor, and closes her eyes.

Alfor smiles. She’s so clearly trying to use her powers, to bypass the medication Alfor had specifically designed to suppress all Altean abilities. The first time Honerva had realized she couldn’t just turn purple at will and the borderline meltdown she’d had had been something to witness.

“That won’t work,” Alfor says after a dobash. As much as he enjoys watching Honerva’s futile attempts to free herself, he is on a schedule. “How did you safely harvest the quintessence from the rift?”

“With hard work,” Honerva snaps, cracking her eyes open for long enough to throw a murderous look in Alfor’s directions.

“And what did that work involve?” Alfor asks as pleasantly as he can.

Honerva merely smiles, smug and gleeful.

“Honerva.”

It gets her to look at him, her eyes doing their best to focus on Alfor alone. no hint of a smile on her face. It grabs Alfor’s attention and curiosity, but he refuses to let Honerva see that. “How did you do it?” He asks again, now that he has her full attention.

Honerva blinks slowly, frowning. “You are assuming I would ever tell you anything.”

“Of course you will,” Alfor replies. “You are Altean, we are of the same people. Your loyalty belongs to us, does it not?”

Honerva has the audacity to laugh in Alfor’s face. “My loyalty is to Zarkon, not you or your people.”

Alfor tilts his head. “Zarkon left you for Keith, did he not? For a younger, prettier _Galra._ And you still remain loyal to him?”

Honerva inclines her head, an infuriatingly Galran thing to do, and closes her eyes again. “We’re done.”

Alfor almost pushes her, but thinks better of it. He can get the truth out of her after she’s spent a few days mulling over Alfor’s words.

* * *

Marzila would prefer not being pinned down with people she doesn’t trust, but she’ll make do with what she has. At least she has Galvak and Haala there, and Thace should be only a little way away with Tayla. If only she could get rid of the Rebellion agents that had been forced onto her team. She had sent two of the rebels with Thace, and kept the remaining three of them with her.

They’re down one rebel, but it can’t be helped. They had all known what they were getting into when they’d signed up.

“Haala?”

“I’m on it, just focus on shooting.”

Marzila grits her teeth and props the rifle up again. She’d prefer to use her staff in such a narrow hallway, but she doesn’t trust the outsiders to protect Haala while he hacks the gates separating them from freedom. The Alteans are smart enough to not charge them, opting instead to hiding behind the corners and firing at them, keeping them stuck where they are.

“Got it,” Haala says, and the gate grinding open confirms his words.

Marzila doesn’t wait before turning and rushing down the hallway. They need to get out of there. They have to find Thace and the others too.

“Thace, what’s your position?” Marzila rounds another corner, trusting Haala and Galvak to keep up with her. The others... not so much, but she’d made it clear that anyone who came with them would either match her pace or be left behind.

She’s not there to babysit rebels who think too much of themselves.

“We are on the second level, east corridor,” Thace replies quietly. “We haven’t been spotted yet.”

Marzila grimaces. “We have, and we could use some help on the way out.”

“On it.”

Another junction, and the shouts and heavy footfalls on the left corridor drive Marzila to the right. She curses, reluctantly slowing down. “Haala, another gate!”

“Of course there is,” Haala grumbles. “Can’t have a base without a million security gates. That’d be way too easy.”

They come to a halt, and Galvak turns to grin at Marzila as he takes position next to her. The rebels, having fallen a few steps behind, stumble to a stop as well, slower to turn around and draw their weapons than the Galra. “He’s charming.” Galvak nods towards Haala, who flattens his ears.

Marzila smiles. “Yeah. He’s _yeisha.”_

Galvak laughs and fires on the first Altean who dares to peek around the corner. Marzila throws a grin at Haala, ignoring his grumbling, before focusing on shooting.

“They’re trying to keep me out, hold on,” Haala says, his voice determined.

“Thace?” Marzila calls over the comms. “We need that backup now.”

“Coming.”

Half a dobash later, he does just that, ambushing the Alteans from behind. It gives them the advantage they need, and when Haala gets the gate open, Marzila orders everyone through it, laying covering fire and ensuring the safety of her team — even the rebels with them.

“Marzi!”

Marzila glances behind her at Haala’s alarmed voice and curses. The gates are closing fast. Thace and Galvak cover her retreat, and she dives towards the fast closing gap. Tayla grabs her arm while Haala wraps his arms around her middle and pulls, the gate scraping against her armor...

and slamming down on her right leg.

Marzila’s scream drowns out the sound of her bones crushing. Haala lets out an alarmed noise above Marzila's head, holding her tight. It’s the only other sound Marzila registers for several long ticks, but slowly she becomes aware of other voices, all distressed. Tayla is at the console, and Thace has crouched next to Marzila, scanning her leg with a grim look on his face. Marzila doesn’t need to hear what he’s seeing to know the answer.

“She’ll slow us down,” one of the rebels — Nol? — says. “We have to go.”

“Repeat that and I’ll rip you to shreds,” Haala growls, his hold on Marzila tightening.

“Look, I get that she’s your friend,” Nol continues, her voice somehow growing more high pitched than it was before. “But we have to go. She’s trapped. Even if we free her she won’t be able to walk!”

Marzila wants to kill her. She’s not going to die there, she’s not. A gate is not going to take her out. She just has to think through the haze of pain.

“Go if you must,” Thace replies. “Haala, help Tayla, will you?”

Haala’s hold on Marzila loosens, and she slumps to the ground, biting back another scream. The pain from her leg almost causes her to black out, but she keeps breathing, focusing on the simple tasks, getting herself back under control. She tunes the argument around her off, and assesses the situation.

They have a dobash, maybe two at most to have a good chance at escaping. She has to get up.

So she does. Her breath trembles and her vision swims, but she manages to sit up. She doesn’t need to know what readings Thace had taken of her leg to know the verdict: she’ll never use it again.

“We’ll get you out soon,” Galvak assures her, but Marzila ignores him.

With one last steadying breath, Marzila unwraps the leather strap from her wrist and tightens it around her right leg, right above the knee, pulling the strap tighter until she’s sure the blood flow has been cut off. Ignoring the dismayed look on Thace’s face, Marzila pulls out the painkillers she always carries with her and injects them straight into her thigh.

Her breaths come in short, shallow bursts, but she grits her teeth and turns to Thace. “Cut it off. Please.”

Thace shakes his head, his eyes wide and horrified. “No.”

“What are you doing?” Haala asks, throwing a glance at Marzila over his shoulder.

Marzila swallows. “We need to go, now.”

“I’ll get you free in —”

“That’s not good enough.”

Haala stops and turns to frown at Marzila. She sets her jaw, her ears tilting down, and turns back to Thace. “I’m not dying here.”

Thace shakes his head and Marzila bares her teeth. She can barely see through the pain, can barely draw a breath without screaming, but if she focuses on glaring Thace down, she hopes she’ll stay conscious long enough to get her way.

“I can get the gate open,” Haala insists.

“Not fast enough,” Marzila replies, her eyes still set on Thace.

Thace shakes his head again, with less certainty this time.

“Are you sure?” Haala asks, and Marzila allows herself to close her eyes for a tick before meeting his gaze.

“Yes.”

Haala levels Marzila with a hard look that Marzila meets without hesitation. Then he inclines his head and picks up Marzila’s sword and, with one last look at Marzila, brings it down on her leg, right below her knee.

Marzila chokes back a scream and lets Galvak drag her up and throw her over his shoulder.

“We’re leaving!” Galvak barks over the horrified protests of the rebels, but Marzila doesn’t focus on that; her attention is on Haala and the horrified look on his face.

She smiles, going for reassuring but almost sure she fails. “Thank you.”

Haala’s ears droop, but he inclines his head. “Anytime.”

It’s a joke that falls flat, but he tries, and that’s enough to make Marzila’s smile — pained as it may be — a bit more genuine. Moments later it becomes impossible for her to keep her eyes open, but she tries, needing to assure Haala that things would be fine one last time.

Just one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna go plan writing the Hades&Persephone retelling of Phantom of the Opera (as it deserves because dammit that's what it's supposed to be) I've been threatening to write for over ten years. That, or I'll just play more Dragon Age. We'll see.
> 
> I hope you liked this!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sort of... not really filler, but it's a short bit that didn't fit in the end of the last chapter or the beginning of the next one. Also I'm still avoiding editing because I just can't focus on that kind of stuff right now (though I have managed to zero draft quite a bit of a novel so maybe I'll succeed in editing soon as well).

Allura, though not free to wander around the Castleship, has gained Alfor’s permission to move between her room and the kitchen, and one of the observation desks — as long as she remains under guard, of course. Allura takes it for what it is; an attempt at manipulation, and pretends it is working. She smiles and thanks Alfor, and takes full advantage of getting out of her room, walking around as often as she can to catch bits of conversations from the guards and to stretch her legs.

Sometimes she sits with Gyrgan or Trigel, and though they tell her barely anything worth her attention, she believes she can benefit from being friendly with them. She doesn’t enjoy their company, exactly, not when they’re strangers — twisted versions of their real selves, much like Alfor — but she prefers it to spending every day alone in her room or with Alfor. The mice are still around, of course, still staying hidden and keeping an eye on the ship, which helps Allura get a better image of what is going on in her home, but in order to keep Allura informed on what is going on, they need to be out observing the Alteans and not with her.

The mice are the ones that help her put Trigel’s comment about being busy, Gyrgan waving ‘a problem’ away as being nothing into context: Haggar is on the ship. Under normal circumstances Allura would hope she was there to be properly punished for her crimes, but now... she worries. What could Alfor possibly want from her?

Haggar is a scheming, power hungry, and most of all, insane witch. There was no reason for anyone to want anything to do with her. And she’s on Zarkon’s side, so her helping Alfor did not seem likely. Information, then? Allura can’t see her giving anything up voluntarily.

Is Alfor going to torture her? Though Allura hates Haggar with every fiber of her being, she doesn’t like the thought one bit.

She ought to do something about it. Perhaps Haggar being there could turn out to be a blessing in disguise; she might be Allura’s ticket out of the Castleship. If anyone can help Allura fight her way to the Blue Lion and then out of the ship, it would be Haggar. Allura still remembers their rescue of Keith vividly, and how Haggar had nearly taken them out on her own.

With the possibility of escape seeming more tangible than ever, Allura sends the mice to find out where Haggar is being kept, then she focuses on figuring her plan out, and on convincing Alfor to give her just a bit more freedom. It is easier said than done, but Allura is ready to test the limits of her stubbornness and prove Coran’s belief such a thing even exists wrong.

It takes her a day to settle on the first part of her plan, which consists of talking to Gyrgan. She had considered chatting up Trigel, but as far as Allura can tell, Trigel would be harder to crack. Allura doesn’t think saying Trigel is more loyal to Alfor would be right, but she is more careful to not let anything slip even by accident. Gyrgan, while not easy to trick, is more relaxed. He has always been that way; kind, grounding, calming presence among his friends.

Allura convinces her guards to send Gyrgan a message, and several varga later, Gyrgan comes to get Allura and takes her to the kitchen for a snack. Allura thanks him, smiling the whole time.

“Do you think I could get another book?” Allura asks while she helps herself to a glass of juice and toast, and pointedly does not think of the humans who had convinced her to even give toast a try.

“I thought you had access to the library,” Gyrgan replies, sounding more confused than suspicious.

Allura shakes her head. “No, just the books I’ve already requested. Father does not trust me with free access to the whole library.” She makes sure to sound hurt by it.

Gyrgan frown, eyeing Allura’s toast dubiously for a tick before focusing on his own plate. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you.” Allura smiles her brightest smile before growing more serious. “What’s going on in the ship?”

Gyrgan studies Allura for a long time, and she does her best to look only mildly interested in the topic. “Not much,” Gyrgan offers eventually. “We are winning quite easily, as was to be expected.”

“Oh?”

Gyrgan cracks a brief smile. “We did prepare for the Galra this time around.”

“Of course.” Allura bites her toast, buying herself time. “It’s just... being trapped in the room and not getting any news is stressful — isolating.”

“You did bring it on yourself,” Gyrgan points out.

Allura sighs. “I was emotional and not thinking clearly. Father acts as though I do not want to see the Galra defeated, when I have spent every moment since I woke up in this time doing nothing  _ but _ try to bring an end to them.”

“That is something you need to discuss with Alfor, I’m afraid,” Gyrgan says.

“But —”

“No, I am not injecting myself in whatever it is you are currently fighting over.”

Allura frowns, not able to stop herself. Luckily Gyrgan doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care.

“Just ask what you want to ask,” Gyrgan says, startling Allura. He tips his tea cup at Allura, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re making a face.”

Allura shoves the rest of her toast into her mouth, wondering if he should ask Gyrgan about Haggar or not. In the end she decides to risk it and improvise. “I heard the guards mention Haggar being on board. I was just wondering if it’s true.”

Gyrgan’s gaze sharpens, and Allura does her best to appear merely curious, not like she needs the information for any personal reason.

“I hadn’t expected anyone to capture her, that’s all,” Allura says. “How did you —”

“It’s not my place to talk with you about these things,” Gyrgan cut in. “You should ask Alfor about that.”

Allura’s mood deflates, but she knows better than to push Gyrgan — at least not without a plan. She finishes her juice slowly, then pours herself another glass while she wracks her brain for an idea. None come to her, though, at least nothing that she thinks would work in her favor. “Could you ask father if he could come see me when he has the time?” It’s all she can think of saying, even if she doesn’t think Alfor will tell her anything either.

“Of course,” Gyrgan promises, relaxing now that Allura has dropped the topic.

For her part, Allura smiles pleasantly and directs the conversation back to the possibility of a new book, and whether Gyrgan had any suggestions for her. She can think of ways to pry information out of Alfor when she gets taken back into her room.

* * *

Lotor had planned on checking on how Marzila was doing in the hospital Thace had taken her in, having taken over when Marzila became incapacitated. Lotor suspects the others followed him simply because he used to be a commander in the Galran military, and most of the surviving team was Galra. There was something to be said about the Galra ability to compartmentalize personal feelings and accept orders from the person best suited to lead in a life or death situation. Most of the time, at least; exceptions always existed.

Though perhaps putting differences aside for long enough to survive was the exception. It might make more sense, as the Galra hadn’t been too keen to follow Lotor though he had been the best suited to lead. Perhaps it was more complicated than Lotor wanted to make it.

Perhaps he was starting to fall into the same black and white thinking that had trapped his father.

No, Lotor would not allow it. He would deal with Marzila and not assume the answer to his unexpected dilemma about the Galra ability to follow a leader would be simple. For now, he must focus on the most important issue at hand.

Namely, the Central Command and it’s apparent destruction.

The Central Command had been under the control of... Lotor is not sure who (he violently suppresses the hint of regret at that), some warlord who had thought too much of themselves. Last reports indicated the Alteans had attacked there and destroyed the base. It hurt, no matter how much Lotor wanted to deny it. The Central Command had been his father’s home, more so than Draizagal ever was, and now it was gone. Just as his father is gone.

Not knowing what else to do, Lotor sends his generals to see what had happened. He feels numb as he orders them to only observe from a distance in case the Alteans are expecting the Galra to come and salvage the base. His generals are more solemn than he’s ever seen them, but Lotor cannot find it in himself to offer them words of reassurance.

He does gather the Galra in their base — Blade of Marmora and Empire personnel alike — into one room and informs them of what has transpired. Understandably, the Galra are devastated, and somehow Lotor finds offering them half-empty words of comfort to be easier than talking to his generals. Perhaps it is because he had been taught to talk to the masses, not so much to offer comfort to individuals.

Lotor remains in a strange daze when he returns to his room, barely registering Shiro following him. He says nothing when Shiro pulls him to sit on the edge of his bed and holds him close without a word.

Perhaps it should be comforting. Perhaps it is, later. Right now, Lotor is too numb to feel one way or another about it.

“Do you need anything?” Shiro asks, his breath warm against Lotor’s ear, his voice quiet.

Lotor shakes his head. “I should get back to work.”

Shiro shifts, but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t let go of Lotor either, and Lotor makes no move to get up. The work can wait a little bit longer.

* * *

Thace doesn’t much care for the scent of the too clean hospital. The pale gray walls and the staff hurrying up and down the hallways, the patients in their rooms, their friends and family moving around do nothing to alleviate his urge to flatten his ears. It has been four days since they gave Marzila into the care of the doctors, and Thace had sent everyone but Haala back to their base. He might have sent Haala back as well had he been sure Haala would have maimed him there, in front of everyone, if he tried.

Thace sighs, and leans against the wall. Marzila had been allowed to wake up from her medically induced coma that morning, and he didn’t want to disrupt her and Haala so soon. The cafeteria offered Thace little entertainment after two hours, however, and he’d ended up returning to hanging out outside Marzila’s room. They had been lucky to get her a private room, though on hindsight Thace suspected Lotor had something to do with it.

When Haala opens the door to Marzila’s room, Thace starts. They stare at each other for a tick, then Haala sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I need a snack.” Haala walks away without another word, leaving Thace staring after him.

After Haala disappears around the corner, Thace pushes himself off the wall and knocks on Marzila’s door before entering. Marzila, settled in her bed, doesn’t look up.

“How are you?” Thace asks as he approaches the chair by the bed Haala had vacated.

Marzila shrugs, her ears twitching back. She picks at the covers, staring at her hands with a scowl on her face. Her hair is a mess, her fur lacking its usual shine, but she’s alive.

She’s going to be fine.

“Haala upset you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Marzila throws a glare at Thace, making him lean back in the chair. “What’s wrong?”

Marzila returns to glaring at her claws. “Nothing. I’m just... I’m fine. Adjusting. Dealing with things. I’ll be fine.”

Thace doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t know how to say as much without angering her further. He inclines his head slowly, wondering if Haala had needed to get away from Marzila due to her mood. The bang of guilt he feels at the thought makes him shift uncomfortably, but he stays where he is. Marzila is allowed to be as upset as she wants and needs to be, and Haala is allowed to need a moment away from her if it will help him help her. Maybe Marzila just needs time and space to come to grips with what had happened.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Thace asks to make sure his presence isn’t aggravating Marzila further.

“No. You’d go bother Haala and he’s already upset enough,” Marzila replies, her voice bitter.

Thace quirks a brow. “How so?”

Marzila sighs and slumps back against the pillows Haala must have propped up for her. “He blames himself for... what happened. He thinks he should have been faster, kept ahead of the security measures, broken them entirely... you get the idea.” Thace inclines his head when Marzila glances at him. “It’s not his fault. How many people could have hacked past unknown adaptive security systems as well as him? It’s a miracle we didn’t all die, and it’s all because of him.”

“You know how Haala is,” Thace says. “He’ll kick himself up for a while and when he’s sure you’re fine, he’ll start forgiving himself for his perceived failure.”

“I know,” Marzila sighs. “But...”

“It’s hard to be around him when he’s blaming himself for what happened?”

“Yeah.” Marzila bites her lip, clenching her hands.

Thace frowns. “It’s not your fault either.”

Marzila shakes her head. “I should’ve —”

“It is not your fault,” Thace repeats more forcefully.

“No, it is.” Marzila raises a hand when Thace tries to argue. “I’m capable of admitting when I’ve made a mistake. Don’t try to coddle me. I stayed still when I should’ve moved. I let my emotions and my instincts get the better of me, and I didn’t think what I should be doing. I fucked up, I can deal with it.”

In Thace’s opinion, the mechanical way she speaks doesn’t sound like she’s dealing with anything, but he doubts now is the time to point that out. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he says instead. “You’re fortunate you get to learn from them.” He suppresses a grimace, already knowing he could have worded that better.

“I know,” Marzila says. “But I’m not supposed to make amateur mistakes, I’m supposed to be able to focus on the situation and get things done.”

Thace sighs and leans forward, forcing Marzila to meet his eye. “The Empire is in pieces, the Emperor is gone, Keith is gone, and we’re working with people we don’t know and who hate us because we’re Galra. We’re fighting an enemy we can’t hope to beat in our current state, and we can’t contact our families to check up on them. You got most of the team out, on top of getting the intel we went there to get even though the mission went wrong the moment it started.”

Marzila opens her mouth to argue but Thace waves her off. “No, listen. You did great. None of us were comfortable with retreating — except for the rebels, I suspect. But they’re not Galra, we are. You did nothing wrong. We should’ve called for you sooner, if anything, but what’s done is done. We’re going to move forward and do better next time, right?”

Marzila’s eyes are too bright when she looks up to properly meet Thace’s gaze. He offers her a soft smile that she tries to return, barely succeeding. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“Anytime.” Thace straightens up, feeling a little better. “Did the doctors talk to you about prosthetics yet?”

Marzila brightens up and inclines her head, launching into an explanation of her options. Thace leans back in his seat and pretends to understand half of the words Marzila uses.

* * *

Acxa swallows at the sight of the Central Command, the bridge of their ship heavy with the shocked silence. They had expected some level of destruction, and in a way, the sight is not as bad as they had assumed it would be, but even from space the Central Command looks abandoned. There are no lights, no ships going to and fro, no signs of life whatsoever. Debris floated past them, but that was the only thing breaking the stillness.

“It’s mostly whole,” Ezor offers, but her voice is hesitant and quiet. “I think Voltron did more damage to it.”

“I think it’s about the same,” Zethrid replies, sounding no less sure of herself than Ezor. “Do we go on board? We might find something useful.”

Acxa shakes her head. “Lotor ordered us to observe, so we observe. We’ll need to scan the perimeter and make sure there are no Alteans around, and then we’ll let Lotor know what the situation is. If he orders us to go on board we will, but not a tick before that.” She hates the slight edge to her voice. She should sound sure of herself, she shouldn’t be so affected by what happened to the Central Command.

It had never been their base of operations, they had barely visited it. But it is —  _ was  _ — the center of the Galran Empire, if for no other reason than the Emperor making it his home. It wasn’t supposed to fall. Even when Voltron had attacked it, the Central Command had been fixed faster than most thought possible. Even when the Emperor had been lost, the Central Command had not stood abandoned.

People had vied for control of it, knowing what it meant for the Galra, and now...

“We’re not going to survive this, are we?” Ezor’s voice is so quiet Acxa barely registers it. Her yelp when Narti’s tail slaps her legs is considerably more audible, as is her complaint at Narti’s behavior, but Acxa doesn’t have the words to tell them to cut it off.

“Lets look around,” Zethrid says. “In case there are any Alteans still around.”

Acxa inclines her head. They search the space around the Central Command in widening circles, the routine practiced, giving them all something to do. Acxa focuses on nothing but the scans, needing, for the moment, not to think about the Central Command. She marks the Altean buoys they find, meticulous in putting down every detail. They don’t talk beyond the occasional comment pertaining to their search.

When they’re done, Acxa sends the report to Lotor, and settles in for a long wait for the reply. They already know they’re unlikely to be ordered to check the Central Command closer, but they still stay close by. None of them even mentions the possibility of leaving. It would feel like giving up, of admitting the Alteans had taken over the Central Command. Acxa isn’t ready to allow that to happen; she’ll stay nearby, guarding the damaged station until Lotor himself orders her to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!


	9. Chapter 9

For the most part, Keith enjoys the time he’s got to spend with Zarkon. There’s something almost freeing in being the only two around, even if the Lion is broken and they really should get out of the rift sooner rather than later. There’s nothing stopping Keith from finding Zarkon and initiating conversation or kissing him, and he doesn’t have to worry about the Empire or a General demanding Zarkon’s attention right at that moment.

For the most part, it’s great. But sometimes Zarkon — understandably, even in Keith’s opinion — gets lost in fixing the Lion. Keith thinks that sometimes it’s less about fixing the Lion and more about being able to tinker with it for Zarkon, not that he’d ever admit it. Keith lets it slide, understanding that this is what Zarkon had wanted for over ten thousand years. Since Keith doesn’t have to compete for Zarkon’s attention with anything or anyone but the Black Lion, and Zarkon is aware of Keith’s opinions on being sidelined for the Lion.

Still, Keith was quick to bore these days, as there was not really anything for him to do in the Lion. He wanders around the Lion until he finds Zarkon scanning a panel for what Keith suspects is a hundredth time. Zarkon likes scanning panels; it makes him feel like he’s doing something to fix the Lion even when he couldn’t actually fix anything. Or so Keith thinks.

“How is she?” Keith asks and leans on the wall next to the panel.

“Unresponsive,” Zarkon replies absently.

Keith hums and nods. He waits for Zarkon to admit defeat and give him his full attention. It takes a few minutes, but as Keith has learned, it happens eventually, though it leaves Zarkon in a slightly annoyed mood. “Did you want something?”

“Just your company.” Keith smiles at the unimpressed look Zarkon spares him.

Zarkon heads down the corridor without another word to Keith, though he tugs at the bond to let him know he can follow. Keith hurries after him, falling in step with Zarkon easily, mostly because Zarkon slows his steps to match Keith’s.

“Any chance you can get the Lion working soon?” Keith asks when Zarkon stops at another panel, trying to keep his tone light.

“Of course.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at Zarkon’s certainty, but he doesn’t try to contradict him. Keith only hopes he could share Zarkon’s certainty on them getting out of the rift. Keith wants to believe they will get the Lion working, most of the time he succeeds, but sometimes...

“Do stop sulking,” Zarkon says, not unkindly.

“Sorry.” Keith sighs and slumps on the floor. “I’m bored, that’s all. I’m not used to sitting around.”

“You should try to adapt.” The hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Zarkon’s mouth took the edge off his words. Keith barely keeps himself from sticking his tongue out, but he does smile.

“Can I help?” Keith asks after a minute of Zarkon frowning at his pad and occasionally poking at the panel.

“No.” Zarkon spares Keith a glance. “You may keep me company, however.”

“Thank you,” Keith laughs, his tail thumping softly against the floor as he shifts to better look up at Zarkon. “That’s so generous of you.”

“You could tell me what goes on in your head,” Zarkon suggests. Keith doesn’t bother pointing out that Zarkon already knows what Keith is thinking. Instead he tells Zarkon of his concern for his friends, for what the Alteans were doing, and whether or not they would return to their reality in time to prevent the worst of the war.

“Do you miss them?” Keith asks as Zarkon finishes up with the panel.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Keith rubs his neck, frowning. “Lotor? Haggar? Any people you might not have hated?”

Zarkon stills for a second before getting a grip of himself and moving to the next panel. Keith scrambles after him, debating whether or not pointing out Zarkon doesn’t need to pretend with him is worth it.

“Missing anyone would not benefit our situation,” Zarkon says as he starts yet another scan. “I trust Lotor and Haggar to be able to take care of themselves, and worrying over their wellbeing would not help them. What does help them and my people alike is getting out of here.”

Trust Zarkon to rationalize everything. Keith huffs and smiles, shaking his head as he settles to lean against the wall. “I suppose. But I still worry.”

“As you are not the one fixing the Lion, you have the luxury to concern yourself with such matters.”

Keith inclines his head and allows them to lapse into a comfortable silence.

“But what if we can’t get out of here?” Keith eventually asks, mostly because it has been bothering him for a long time.

Zarkon frowned at his pad and considered his answer. “In the unlikely event... I am unsure.”

Keith considers it a small miracle Zarkon admits it. “It’s just that, there’s not much to do here, and I don’t think time works right here. I don’t want to spend a hundred years stuck here.”

“You will not,” Zarkon assures him.

“It’d be easier to deal with being stuck here if you’d take a moment to come spend time with me,” Keith says, letting Zarkon draw his own conclusions to what he means.

“Do I not spend enough time with you as it is?”

“Yeah, but you’re the only entertainment I have here.”

Zarkon throws a glare in Keith’s direction. “I am not ‘entertainment’.”

“You’re the only other person here and it’s kinda your fault I get anxious when confined and alone,” Keith says, biting his tongue too late.

Zarkon doesn’t flinch — he never does — but he stills, takes a deep breath and nudges the shields between them a bit higher before turning to Keith. “What do you want to do?”

Somehow Keith swallows the guilt bubbling in him at dredging up the past in such a manner, and shrugs. “You can finish the scans if you want. I didn’t mean —”

“If you are distressed I can put the scans aside until you are more comfortable.” Zarkon levels Keith with a look that leaves no room for argument. “Either you want my attention or not. So which is it?”

Keith would be offended by it if not for the fact that he knows Zarkon is doing it on purpose. Not maliciously, but out of habit. He’s even using his Emperor tone. The familiarity of it is, in a strange way, comforting. “Fine. Come spend time with me. We can lounge around and you can braid my hair or something.”

Without a word, Zarkon waved Keith to lead the way. So Keith does, taking them to their living area where he’d built a blanket nest of sorts, much to Zarkon’s annoyance. He doesn’t voice it, of course, and when Keith pulls him to sit with him among the blankets, he goes easily.

Zarkon doesn’t braid Keith’s hair, but he does run his claws through it until Keith purrs. It should be unfair, how easy it is for Zarkon to get Keith to relax, but Keith doesn’t have it in him to care in that moment.

“Better?” Zarkon asks when Keith is close to nodding off in his lap.

“Yeah.” Keith blinks his eyes open and smiles up at Zarkon. “Thanks.”

Zarkon lets Keith sit up and moves off his lap, but he makes no move to stand up. Keith doesn’t either. Instead, he settles next to Zarkon, enjoying the closeness. “I kinda want to do something but I don’t know what.”

Zarkon hums and runs his knuckles up and down Keith’s spine. “Did you get bored of your cards already?”

Keith had dug up playing cards from the emergency resources in the cargo hold a while back, and taught Zarkon how to play poker, a move Keith regrets as Zarkon was impossible to read and Keith was almost certain he figured out how to count the cards. “Yeah. At least for now.”

“The pad with the books?”

“Gone through them all.”

“What about the—”

“I promise you, I’ve gone through all the possibilities. There’s nothing for me to do here anymore.” Keith spares Zarkon an apologetic look. “It’s just that I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over again.”

Zarkon tilts his head. Keith raises his hand to silence him. “You’re the exception, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Zarkon smirks briefly, straightens up, and regards Keith with a look Keith can’t decipher. He tries to poke the bond, but Zarkon doesn’t let him through, not to what he’s thinking, anyways.

Keith smiles. “If you’re going to suggest sex, I’m in.”

“I was not, at least not right now. I do have to finish the scans today.”

Keith sighs, but he can’t help but smile affectionately. “Always with the scans. I’m starting to feel like a housewife or something.”

“You would not be my wife,” Zarkon says, his expression bordering on amused. “We would not be married in the first place.”

Keith almost feels hurt before he remembers the Galra don’t do marriage. “Mate, then. I’m just waiting for you to get back home after a long day of work.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Lounge around all day waiting for you?”

Zarkon looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Be my mate.”

Keith stills, his brain refusing to work. Does he want that? He hadn’t even considered it a possibility before, not truly. What would that even make him? Would he have to take part in the politics of the Empire? Would it be worth it?

“I...”

Keith swallows. A lifetime bound to Zarkon — not that he didn’t already have that. But it would be by choice. It would mean something _different._ And here, in the rift, where nothing but them seemed to matter, it would be easy. And they could go back to the rest of the world and maybe it would continue to be easy.

“Not here,” Keith says. “Ask me again when we’re not stuck in the rift.”

Zarkon doesn’t react, which is almost worse than if he had. “Alright.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Keith hurries to say, touching Zarkon’s arm as he turns to pick his pad up again. “It’s just that... we’re stuck here, right? And things are different here — we’re different here —, and I don’t want us to go back to the rest of the world and find out that this right here won’t work in there.”

“This right here?”

Keith gets the distinct impression Zarkon is humoring him, but he keeps it to himself. “Us. This... how easy it is here. I think we’re both different now that we don’t have to worry about other people, and I don’t want to —” he swallows the words _be stuck with you_ down “— change what we have now only to find out it doesn’t work out there.”

Zarkon raises an eyebrow, patient and indulging.

“I mean, this here is great, but then we go back and you get back to running the Empire and you’re gonna get... you get an attitude. And at best you’ll be mean to my friends and we’ll end up fighting, and I think there’s enough going on here without adding... just ask me again when we’re out of the rift and we know we’re fine there too.”

Zarkon regards Keith for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his mind purposefully blank. “Alright.” He stands, brushing his clothes down. “If you wish to help with the Lion, you could go to the cockpit and keep an eye on the panel. I plan to try to reroute some of the emergency power there if the scans show no change. It will be risky, but we must do something to get the Lion working.”

Keith opens his mouth a few times, feeling kicked in the gut, but eventually he nods. “Okay.”

Zarkon mimics Keith’s nod and walks out of the room, leaving Keith feeling empty and cold amidst the blankets.

* * *

If Allura had expected Alfor to come to her after her talk with Gyrgan, it would have been sooner. Or perhaps later, she cannot decide. Still, there he was, studying Allura with cold, calculating eyes. Allura meets his gaze without blinking, keeping her mind as clear as possible in case Alfor tries to read it.

“You know of Honerva.”

Allura cannot stop herself from frowning.

“Haggar,” Alfor clarifies, much to Allura’s shock. “I have yet to determine how Zarkon twisted her into believing she’s someone she is not, but I will get to the bottom of it.”

“Maybe I could help,” Allura says, trying her hardest to regain her composure. Alfor seems momentarily surprised, so Allura presses forward, hoping it will work in her advantage. “I’ve been fighting her for a long time now, she knows me — recognizes me. Maybe seeing me will make her slip up.”

Alfor regards Allura in contemplative silence for a long moment. Allura is sure he won’t give her what she wants, especially as time passes, but she keeps her face passive, biting her tongue to give her something to focus on.

“I’ll consider it,” Alfor says eventually, but in a tone that tells Allura the answer will be no.

“Thank you,” Allura still replies.

* * *

It takes a week for the guards to get Allura from her room. Allura makes a point of putting on one of her nice dresses, just to give off the impression she isn’t looking for a fight, even if she’d be more comfortable in armor. The guards escort her to one of Alfor’s old work spaces. Allura hasn’t been there since she woke up, the memories of her father having been too painful. Alfor greets her outside the doors, and Allura returns the greeting with a cordial smile.

“You wanted to help,” Alfor says, something sharp beneath his friendly tone. “I have decided to give you a chance.”

“What do you need of me?” Allura asks, knowing the true answer is nothing, he just wants to see what she will do.

“You wished to help with Honerva,” Alfor says. “I hope seeing you will throw her off. Don’t worry, we have suppressed her powers and sedated her, though she is capable of holding a conversation. More or less. If you can, try to get her to talk about how to access the rift.”

Allura nods. “I understand.”

Alfor opens the door and steps aside, allowing Allura to enter first. Allura keeps her face straight as she enters, discreetly taking her surroundings in. Just as she remembered, the desks and cabinets are still there, but there’s nothing lying on them, no notes decorating the cabinet doors to remind Alfor to check his experiments and eat something healthy for a change. The space is too clinical, and Allura has to struggle not to shiver.

Soon she turns her attention to Haggar, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, staring at the five guards around her with calm iciness, as if she wasn’t shackled to the chair. It takes Allura a few ticks to get over the shock of seeing her. For a moment, she’s a child again, trying to get Honerva to pay attention to Allura and not her work if only for a dobash. But as Haggar (Honerva?) turned to Allura, her eyes shined with the same gold as Alfor’s and the illusion was broken.

Allura smooths the front of her dress and takes a step forward, hoping she doesn’t appear as shaken as she feels. “Hello.” She receives no response, so she clears her throat and takes another step forward. “I’m here to —”

“No,” Haggar says, her tone final.

Allura shuts her mouth and stares her for a long few ticks. She hadn’t expected to be stonewalled quite so fast. She had assumed she’d at least get to finish a sentence. If Haggar refuses to even hear that much, Allura will have a harder time making her understand she’s not on Alfor’s side.

Maybe she needs a new tactic, then.

“Could you leave?” Allura looks up to the guards, putting all her authority into her pose and voice. “Or at least back off. Unless you consider my father and yourselves so poor at restraining one person that you believe she can free herself the moment you are not pointing weapons at her.”

The guards exchange looks, and move to the door, though they do not leave. It’s better than nothing, though Allura would have preferred them to leave completely. Allura approaches Haggar, and stops in front of her. Up close, she can see her eyes have a strangely glazed look to them, her breath just a bit on the shallow side. Drugged, Alfor had said. Allura can’t help but be a little impressed at how well Haggar hides it.

“Do you remember the last time we met?” Allura asks. Haggar blinks at her, but doesn’t respond. “You almost took out Voltron on your own.” Maybe not the best information to give Alfor, but Allura needs Haggar on her side.

Haggar tilts her head, her hair falling on her face. Allura reaches over to brush the strands back, half expecting Haggar to bite her wrist. But she doesn’t, instead, the coldness in her eyes gives way to curiosity. Allura offers her a brief smile and glances at the guards. Unsurprisingly, they’re keeping a close eye on Allura.

“How did you manage that?” Allura asks as she returns her attention to Haggar, letting her see the urgency in Allura’s eyes.

For a moment, Haggar merely stares at her. “Practice,” she says eventually.

Allura takes it as a victory and circles Haggar, considering her next move. She needs to free Haggar, that much is certain. She could try to escape her room and track Haggar down on her own, but she can’t get out of her room on her own anymore — the downside to her many escapes — so her best bet would be to get Haggar free now. But with the guards there... Allura stops in front of Haggar, frowning. “You have some kind of a device attached to the Central Command that amplifies your powers.”

Haggar stares at Allura, clearly not understanding what Allura is on about. Not that Allura is much more certain of it herself. She touches Haggar’s hand, trying to convey camaraderie, stilling at the numbness spreading through her fingers. Haggar’s eyes flicker to the bindings at her wrists. What had Alfor said, that they are suppressing Haggar’s powers?

Taking a closer look at the bindings, Allura spots the faint white glow through the seams of the bindings. Quintessence? Perhaps, though Allura hasn’t seen a white variant of it. Perhaps it is something Alfor came up with. It doesn’t matter now, though, and Allura files it away as something she should look into once she gains her freedom.

Perhaps it is arrogance, or Alfor testing Allura’s loyalty, but the bindings aren’t locked, simply secured in a way that Haggar cannot open them herself.

Allura makes sure she’s standing between the guards’ line of sight, and starts wiggling the clasp open as quietly as she can. “Can you tell me about the device?”

Haggar, momentarily stunned by Allura’s actions, shakes her head, though Allura suspects she does it more to clear her head than to refuse her request. “The technology is classified,” she says soon enough, confirming Allura’s suspicion.

“What about the quintessence you use?” Allura asks to buy time.

“Why would I help you?” Haggar asks, her eyes flickering from Allura to the guards and back.

“Because it will help you,” Allura replies without missing a beat as she releases the clasp. She moves to Haggar’s other side, pretending to ponder her next words. “All things considered, we’re better off working together.”

“You would be better off, perhaps.” Haggar narrows her eyes. “I see no benefit for myself.”

“You need to trust me,” Allura says, a hint of urgency creeping into her voice.

Allura freezes when the door opens. “Any success?” Alfor doesn’t sound like he expects the answer to be positive. Allura meets Haggar’s eyes, but sees nothing reassuring in them. She doesn’t know if it’s because Haggar isn’t willing to work with Allura at all, or if she’s just not made up her mind. Maybe she’s just that good with hiding her emotions.

Allura turns to Alfor, sighing and shaking her head. She acts properly defeated as she approaches Alfor. “I’m sorry.”

Alfor offers her a gentle smile and lays a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. You tried.” His words might have been reassuring if not for the calculating edge in his eyes.

Allura doesn’t know what she should say or do. Should she stall? Should she take her chances and run? She’d freed Haggar, that won’t go unnoticed, and unless Haggar helps her she’s going to be in a lot of trouble. She will —

a blast of purple electric energy knocked Allura, Alfor, and the guards to the wall. Allura slams into Alfor, her fall softened, and she’s quick to scramble to her feet despite her body aching from the magic that hit her. Haggar is already unclasping her ankles, but Allura still rushes to help her.

“We have to go,” she says, pulling Haggar up, supporting her when her feet nearly give out.

“Where?”

“The Blue Lion. If you help me reach her, I’ll get you out,” Allura replies.

Haggar regards Allura for a long tick, then inclines her head minutely. “Lie to me and I’ll tear you to shreds.”

“Got it,” Allura mutters and helps Haggar to the door.

Of course Allura cannot open it, and as she hooks her arm with Haggar’s to keep her upright while she starts tackling the lock, Alfor and the guards begin to stir. Allura curses under her breath and tries to work faster, but while she knows the Castleship, she’s not well versed enough in technology to simply open a lock with tech from another reality.

Allura is about to give up and grab a weapon from one of the guards sitting up and just shooting them all when the world shifts around her, her surroundings gaining a purple glow, her skin prickling, and Haggar pulls her through the door. Mostly.

Allura yelps as the world comes to focus again, stumbling when her dress yanks her back. She turns, steadying Haggar absently, and pulls at her dress, not quite believing what she’s seeing: the hem of her dress is stuck _inside_ the door.

“We need to go,” Haggar snaps. Allura doesn’t bother pointing out that would be easier if her dress wasn’t stuck inside a door. Instead, she lets go of Haggar, ignoring the way she wavers on her feet, and hurries to rip the hem of her dress to free herself. She can get back to her armor once she’s free, so the dress doesn’t matter.

Allura grabs Haggar again and pulls her along, helping her keep up with Allura’s pace. They make it down the corridor before an alarm sounds.

“Keep moving,” Haggar orders when Allura slows down.

“But what if —”

“We need to get away from here. Slowing down won’t help with that,” Haggar cuts in. “So keep. Moving.”

Allura shoves Haggar around the corner a little harder than necessary, but she keeps moving. They dodge a patrol of guards, and make it down to the next level without being spotted. But that’s where their luck ends.

Haggar is quick to shoot a blast of energy at the guards, and though the blast is powerful, it’s not nearly as powerful as Allura knows she’s capable of.

“We need another route,” Haggar gasps between labored breaths.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Allura snaps, but does what Haggar tells her to. Allura takes them another way, hoping they don’t run into more guards any time soon.

The next patrol stops them as they near the elevator. Allura pulls Haggar back around the corner a tick before the first shot flies past them. “Can you take them out?” She asks Haggar, who shakes her head.

“I don’t have that kind of energy right now.”

Allura bites her tongue, not believing arguing with Haggar would get them anywhere in that moment. She closes her eyes, focusing on the Lion, hoping sensing her will help her calm down. She can’t get caught now, not when she’s so close to escaping. She cannot get caught.

Her hand shimmers, and her bayard appears. She stares at it, dumbfounded until Haggar slaps her over the head. “Get over yourself and kill them!”

For once Haggar has a point, and Allura barrels around the corner, swinging her trusty whip at the guards. A shot graces her arm, but she takes the guards down, and rushes to the elevator before anyone else can call it to them.

“Lets go!” Allura barely spares a glance at Haggar, too busy waiting for the elevator to arrive. Haggar reaches her just as the elevator comes, and Allura grabs Haggar’s arm and hauls her into the elevator.

“Must you be like that?” Haggar grumbles when the elevator starts, but her expression is unimpressed.

“With you? Yes.” Allura throws a glare over her shoulder. “You’re a mass murdering lunatic.”

Haggar manages to look even less impressed with Allura. “Do you want to antagonize me right now?”

Allura grits her teeth and pointedly stares at the doors until they open. It’s the final stretch to the Lion, and they are going to make it.

“We’re almost there,” Allura says, more to herself than to Haggar.

“We can walk the rest of the way,” Haggar replies. “They are letting us go.”

Allura frowns even as she drags Haggar from the elevator. “No they are not.”

“We’ve ran to three patrols —”

“On one floor!”

“— and no one was waiting for us here. Not to mention the ease you unshackled me with.”

Allura sets her jaw and walks faster. “You’re wrong.”

“Think what you like, if it will help you shut up and get us out of here,” Haggar replies.

Allura grumbles as they reach the hangar — and the lack of guards doesn’t mean Haggar is right — and she almost cries at the sight of her Lion. The first shot barely misses Allura, and Haggar stops the next one by throwing a wave of her magic back at the guards behind them.

Allura curses and pulls Haggar along. So much for them being let go and for Haggar being right. One of the stray shots hits Allura in the shoulder, and another makes Haggar trip.

The Blue Lion comes to life and bridges the distance between them, shocking the guards enough for them to stop firing. Allura throws Haggar into the Lion as soon as she lowers her head and lets them in. “Stay out of the way!” Allura runs past Haggar and into the cockpit.

The Lion is familiar and comforting, and Allura breathes easier than she has in months when she enters the cockpit. The mice are there already, huddling in a corner. “We’ll be out of here in a tick,” Allura assures them, and takes the controls.

The Lion responds to her easily, and Allura doesn’t waste a tick blasting their way out of the Castleship. She had missed the space, the freedom it offers. Her breath comes in shallow huffs, her head growing lighter as she starts processing the situation. Or perhaps it’s the blood loss.

She’ll figure out which when she’s somewhere safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!


End file.
